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THE FIRE BRIGADE; 

OR 

fighting the flames 

A TALE. 


5gS BT 

R. M. BALLANTYNE, 

» % 

AUTHOR OF “THE LIFEBOAT, A TALE OF OUR COAST HEROES;” “SHIFTING 
WINDS, A TOUGH YARN;” “THE LIGHTHOUSE, BEING THE STORY 
OF A GREAT FIGHT BETWEEN MAN AND THE SEA;” “GAS- 
COYNE;” “THE CORAL ISLANDS,” ETC., ETC. 


A 


» • »« 


NEW YORK : 

JOHN W. LOVELL, COMPANY, 

14 # 16 Vesey Streeet. 






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* . 


A TALE OF THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE 


CHAPTER L 

8HOW8 HOW THE FIGHT BEGAN, AND WHO BEGAN IT. 

One’s own fireside is, to all well-regulated minds, 
a pleasant subject of contemplation when one is 
absent, and a source of deep gratification when 
present. 

Especially may this be said to be the case in a 
cold, raw night in November, when mankind has a 
tendency to become chronically cross out of doors, 
and nature, generally, looks lugubrious ; for, just in 
proportion as the exterior world grows miserably 
chill, the world “ at home,” with its blazing gas, its 
drawn curtains, its crackling fires, and its beaming 
miles, becomes doubly comfortable and cosy. 

Even James Auberly, pompous, stern, and un- 
genial though he was, appeared to entertain some 
such thoughts, as he sat by his <own fireside, one 


2 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


such night, in his elegant mansion in Beverly Square 
Euston Boad, London, and smiled grimly over the 
top of the Times newspaper at the fire. 

Mr. Auberly always smiled — when he conde 
scended to smile — grimly. He seldom laughed ; 

when he did so he did it grimly too. In fact, he 
was a grim man altogether ; a gaunt, cadaverous, 
tall, careworn, middle-aged man, — also a great one. 
There could he no question as to that ; for, besides 
being possessed of wealth, which, in the opinion of 
some minds, constitutes greatness, he was chairman 
of a railway company, and might have changed situa- 
tions with the charwoman who attended the head- 
office of the same without much difference being 
felt. He was also a director of several other com - 
panies, which, fortunately for them, did not appear 
to -require much direction in the conduct of their 
affairs. 

Mr. Auberly was also leader of the fashion, in 
his own circle, and an oracle among his own para- 
sites ; but, strange to say, he was nobody whatever 
in any other sphere. Cabmen, it is true, appeared 
to have an immense respect for him on first ac- 
quaintance, for his gold rings and chains bespoke 
wealth, and he was a man of commanding presence, 
but their respect never outlived a first engagement. 
Cabmen seldom touched their hats to Mr. Auberly 
on receiving their fare ; they often parted from him 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. S 

with a smile as grim as his own, and once a pecu- 
liarly daring member of the fraternity was heard 
blandly to request him to step again into the cab, 
and he would drive him the “ nine hundred and 
ninety-ninth part of a inch that was still doo on the 
odd sixpence.” That generous man even went further, 
and, when his fare walked away without making a 
reply, he shouted after him that “ if he ’d only do ’im 
the honour to come back, he ’d throw in a inch an’ 
a half extra for nothink.” But Mr. Auberly was 
inexorable. 

“ Louisa, dear,” said Mr. Auberly, recovering from 
the grim smile which had indicated his appreciation 
of his own fireside, “pour me out another cup of 
coffee, and then you had better run away to bed. It 
is getting late.” 

“ Yes, papa,” replied a little dark-eyed, dark-haired 
girl, laying down her book and jumping up to obey 
the command. 

It may be added that she was also dark-dressed, 
for Mr. Auberly had become a widower and his 
child motherless only six months before. 

While Louisa was pouring out the coffee, her 
father rose and turned his back to the fire. 

It was really interesting, almost awe-inspiring, to 
behold Mr. Auberly rise ; he was so very tall, and 
so exceedingly straight. So remarkably perpen- 
dicular was he, so rigidly upright, that a hearty but 


4 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


somewhat rude sea-captain, with whom he once had 
business transactions, said to his mate on one occa- 
sion that he believed Mr. Auberly must have been 
born with a handspike lashed to his backbona 
Yes, he was wonderfully upright, and it would havo 
been downright madness to have doubted the up- 
rightness of the spirit which dwelt in such a body ; 
so nobody did doubt it, of course, except a few jaun- 
diced and sceptical folk, who never could be got to 
believe anything. 

“ Good-night, my love,” said Mr. Auberly, as the 
child placed the coffee beside his chair, and then 
advanced, somewhat timidly, and held up her cheek 
to be kissed. 

The upright man stooped, and there was a shade 
less of grimness in his smile as his lips touched his 
daughter’s pale cheek. 

Louisa, or, to use the name by which she was better 
known in the house, Loo, had clasped her hands 
tightly together while she was in the act of receiv- 
ing this tribute of parental affection, as if she were 
struggling to crush down some feeling, but the feel- 
ing, whatever it was, would not be crushed down ; it 
rose up and asserted itself by causing Loo to burst 
into a passionate hood of tears, throw her arms 
round her father’s neck, and hold him tight there 
while she kissed his cheek all over. 

‘ Tut, tut, child ! ’ exclaimed Mr. Auberly, en 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


5 


deavouring to re-arrange the stiff collar and cravat 
which had been sadly disordered ; ' you must really 
try to get over these — there, don’t be cast down,” 
he added, in a kinder tone, patting Loo’s head. 
“ Good-night, dear ; run away to bed now, and he a 
good girl.” 

Loo smiled faintly through her tears as she looked 
up at her father, who had again become upright, 
said “ Good-night,” and ran from the room with a 
degree of energy that might have been the result of 
exuberant spirits — though, possibly, it was caused 
by some other feeling. 

Mr. Auberly sat for some time, dividing his atten- 
tions pretty equally between the paper, the fire, and 
the coffee, until he recollected having received a 
letter that day which he had forgotten to answer, 
whereupon he rose and sat down before his writing- 
table to reply. 

The letter was from a poor widow, a sister-in-law 
of his own, who had disgraced herself for ever — at 
least in Mr. Auberly’s eyes — by having married a 
waterman. Mr. Auberly shut his eyes obstinately 
to the fact* that the said waterman had, by the sheer 
force of intelligence, good conduct, courage, and per- 
severance, raised himself to the command of an East 
Indiaman. It is astonishing how firmly some people 
can shut their eyes — sew them up, as it were, and 
plaster them over — to some things, and how easily 
% 


6 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES: A TALE OF 


they can open them to others ! Mr. Auberly’s eyes 
were open only to the fact that his sister-in-law had 
married a waterman, and that that was an unpardon- 
able sin, for which she was for ever banished from 
the sunshine of his presence. 

The widow’s letter set forth that since her hus- 
band’s death she had been in somewhat poor circum * 
stances — though not in absolute poverty— for which 
she expressed herself thankful ; that she did not 
write to ask for money, but that she had a young 
son — a boy of about twelve — whom she was very 
anxious to get into a mercantile house of some sort, 
and, knowing his great influence, etc. etc., she hoped 
that, forgetting, if not forgiving, the past, now that 
her husband was dead, he would kindly do what he 
could, etc. etc. 

To this Mr. Auberly replied that it was impos- 
sible to forgive the past, but he would do his best to 
forget it, and also to procure a situation for her son 
(though certainly not in his own office), on one con- 
sideration, namely, that she, the widow, should forget 
the past also —including his own, Mr. Auberly’s, 
existence (as she had once before promised to do), 
and that she should never inform her son, or any 
other member of her family — if there happened to 
be any other members of it— of the relationship 
existing between them, nor apply to him by visit or 
by letter for any farther favours. In the event of 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


7 


her agreeing to this arrangement, she might send 
her son to his residence in Beverly Square, on Thurs- 
day next, between eleven and twelve. 

Just as he concluded this letter, a footman en- 
tered softly and laid a three-cornered note on the 
table. 

“ Stay, Hopkins, I want you,” said Mr. Auberly, 
as he opened the note and ran his eye over it. 

Hopkins, who was clad in blue velvet and white 
stockings, stood like a mute beside his masters 
chair. He was very tall and very thin, and very 
red in the nose. 

“ Is the young woman waiting, Hopkins ? ” 

“ Yes, sir ; she’s in the lobby.” 

“ Send her up.” 

In a few seconds Hopkins reopened the door, and 
looked down with majestic condescension on a smart 
young girl whom he ushered into the room. . 

“ That will do ; you may go, — stay, post this 
letter. Come here, young woman.” 

The young woman, who was evidently a respect- 
able servant- girl, approached with some timidity. 

“ Your name is Matty Merryon, I understand 
(yes, sir), at least so your late mistress, Miss Tippet, 
informs me. Pray, what does Matty stand for?” 

“ Martha, sir.” 

“ Well, Martha, Miss Tippet gives you a very 
good character — which is well, because I intend 


8 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


you to be servant to my child — her maid ; but Miss 
Tippet qualifies her remarks by saying that you are 
a little careless in some things. What things are 
you careless in ?” 

“ La ! sir — ” 

“ You must not say ‘ La !’ my girl,” interrupted Mr. 
Auberly, with a frown, “ nor use exclamations of any 
kind in my presence ; what are the ‘ some things’ 
referred to ?” 

“ Sure I don’t know, sir,” said the abashed Matty. 
“ I s’pose there ’s a-many things I ant very good at ; 
but, please sir, I don’t mean to do nothin’ wrong, 
sir, I don’t indeed ; an’ I ’ll try to serve you well, 
sir, if it wor only to plaaze my missis, as I ’m leavin’ 
against my will, for I love my — ” 

“ There, that will do,” said Mr. Auberly somewhat 
sternly, as the girl appeared to be getting excited. 
“ Ring that bell : now, go downstairs and Hopkins 
will introduce you to my housekeeper, who will 
explain your duties to you.” 

Hopkins entered and solemnly marched Martha 
Merry on to the regions below. 

Mr. Auberly locked away his papers, pulled out 
his watch, wound it up, and then, lighting a bed- 
room candle, proceeded with much gravity upstairs. 

He was a very lately -looking man, and strikingly 
dignified as he walked upstairs to his bedroom— 
slowly and deliberately, as though he were marching 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


9 


at liis own funeral to the tune of something even 
deader than the “ Dead March in Saul.’’ 

It is almost a violation of propriety to think of 
Mr. Auberly doing such a very undignified thing as 
“ going to bed !” Yet truth requires us to tell that 
he did it ; that he undressed himself as other 
mortals do ; that he clothed himself in the wonted 
ghostly garment ; and that, when his head was last 
seen — in the act of closing the curtains around him 
— there was a conical white cap on it, tied with a 
string below the chin, and ornamented on the top 
with a little tassel, which waggled as though it were 
bidding a triumphant and final adieu to human 
dignity ! 

Half an hour later, Mrs. Rose, the housekeeper, 
a matronly, good-looking woman, with very red 
cheeks, was busy in the study explaining to Matty 
Merryon her duties. She had already shown her all 
over the house, and was now at the concluding 
lesson. 

“Look here now, Merryon,” began the house- 
keeper. 

“ Oh, plaaze, don’t call me Merryon — I an’t used 
to it. Call me Matty, do now !” 

“ Very well, Matty,” continued Mrs. Rose, with a 
smile, “ I ’ve no objection ; you Irish are a strange 
m;e ! Now, look here. This is master’s study, and 
mind, he ’s very partikler, dreadful parti kler 1” 

2 * 


10 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


She paused and looked at her pupil, as if desirous 
of impressing this point deeply on her memory. 

“ He don’t like his papers or books touched , not 
even dusted ! So you ’ll be careful not to dust ’em, 
nor to touch ’em even so much as with your little 
finger, for he likes to find ’em in the mornin’ just as 
he left ’em at night.” 

“ Yes, Missis Rose,” said Matty, who was evidently 
giving up her whole soul to the instruction that was 
being imparted. 

“ Now,” continued the housekeeper, “ the arranging 
of this room will be your last piece of work at night. 
You ’ll just come in, rake out the grate, carry off 
the ashes, lay the noo fire, put the matches handy 
on the chimney-piece, look round to see that all ’s 
right, and then turn off the gas. The master is a 
early riser, and lights the fire his-self of a mornin’.” 

“ Yes, ’m,” said Matty, with a courtesy. 

“ Now, go and do it,” said Mrs. Rose, “ that I may 
see you understand it. Begin with the grate an’ 
the ashes.” 

Matty, who was in truth an experienced maid-of 
all- work, began with alacrity to discharge the duties 
of her new station. She carried off the ashes, and 
returned with the materials for next day’s fire in a 
shovel. Here she gave a slight indication of her 
so-called carelessness (awkwardness would have 
been more appropriate) by letting two or thre$ 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


11 


pieces of stick and a bit of coal fall on the carpet, 
in her passage across the room. 

“ Be careful, Matty/’ said Mrs. Rose gently. * It ’a 
all along owin’ to haste. Take your time, an’ you 
won’t do sitch things.” 

Matty apologized, picked up the materials, and 
laid the fire. Then she took her apron and ap- 
proached the writing-table, evidently with the in- 
tention of taking the dust off the corners, but not 
by any means intending to touch the books or 
papers. 

“ Stop ! ” cried Mrs. Rose sternly. 

Matty stopped with a guilty look. 

“ Not a touch,” said Mrs. Rose. 

“ Not even the idges, nor the legs ?” inquired the 
pupil. 

“ Neither edges nor legs,” said the instructor. 

“ Sure it could do no harm.” 

“ Matty,” said Mrs. Rose solemnly, “ the great 
thing that your countrywomen have to learn is 
obedience .” 

“ Thank ’ee, ’m,” said Matty, who, being overawed 
by the housekeeper’s solemnity, felt confused, and 
was uncertain whether the reference to her country- 
women was complimentary or the reverse. 

“ Now,” continued Mrs. Rose, “ the matches.” 

Matty placed the box of matches on the chimney- 
piece, 


12 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES i A TALE OF 


“ Very well now you ’ve got to look round to see 
that all ’s right.” 

Matty looked round on the dark portraits that 
covered the walls (supposed to be ancestors), on the 
shelves of books, great and small, new and old (sup- 
posed to be read) ; on the vases, statuettes, chairs, 
tables . desks, curtains, papers, etc. etc., and, being 
utterly ignorant of what constituted right and what 
wrong in reference to such things, ^finally turned her 
eyes on Mrs. Rose with an innocent smile. 

“ Don’t you see that the shutters are neither shut 
nor barred, Matty ? ” 

She had not seen this, but she at once went and 
closed and barred them, in which operation she 
learned, first, that the bars refused to receive their 
respective “ catches ” with unyielding obstinacy for 
some time ; and, second, that they suddenly gave in 
without rhyme or reason and pinched her fingers 
severely. 

“ Now then, what next ? ” inquired Mrs. Rose. 

" Put out the gas,” suggested Matty. 

“ And leave yourself in the dark !” said the house- 
keeper, in a tone of playful irony. 

“ Ah ! sure, didn’t I forgit the candle ! ” 

In order to rectify this oversight, Matty laid the 
unlighted candle which she had brought with her 
to the room on the writing -table, and going to the 
chimney-piece, returned with the match-box. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


13 


“ Be careful now, Matty,” said Mrs. Rose earnestly, 
“ There ’s nothink I ’ve sitch a fear of as fire. You 
can’t be too careful.” 

This remark made Matty, who was of an anxious 
temperament, extremely nervous. She struck the 
match hesitatingly, and lighted the candle shakily. 
Of course it would not light (candles never do on 
such occasions), and a long red-hot end of burnt: 
wood projected from the point of the match. 

“ Don’t let the burnt end drop into the waste- 
paper basket ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Rose, in an unfor- 
tunate moment. 

“ Where ?” exclaimed Matty, with a start that sem 
the red- hot end into the centre of a mass of papers. 

“ There, just at your feet ; don’t be so nervous 
girl ! ” cried Mrs. Rose. 

Matty, in her anxiety not to drop the match, at 
once dropped it into the waste-paper basket, which 
was instantly alight. A stamp of the foot might 
have extinguished it, but this did not occur to either 
of the domestics. The housekeeper, who was a 
courageous woman, seized the basket in both hands, 
and rushed with it to the fireplace, thereby fanning 
the flame into a blaze and endangering her dress 
and curls She succeeded, however, in cramming 
the basket and its contents into the grate * then the 
two, with the aid of poker, tongs, and shovel, crushed 
and beat out the fire. 


14 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ There ! I said you ’d do it,” gasped Mrs. Rose, as 
she flung herself, panting, into Mr. Auberly’s easy- 
chair ; “ this comes all along of bein’ in a hurry.” 

“ I was always unfort’nit,” sighed Matty, still hold- 
ing the shovel and keeping her eye on the grate, as 
if ready to make a furious attack on the smallest 
spark that should venture to show itself. 

“ Come now, we 11 go to bed,” said Mrs. Rose, 
rising, “ but first look well round to see that all is 
safe.” 

A thorough and most careful investigation was 
made of the basket, the grate, and the carpet sur- 
rounding the fireplace, but nothing beyond the smell 
of the burnt papers could be discovered, so the in - 
structor and pupil put out the gas, shut the door, 
and retired to the servants’ -hall, where Hopkins, 
the cook, the housemaid, and a small maid-of-all- 
work awaited their arrival — -supper being already on 
the table., 

Here Mrs. Rose entertained the company with a 
graphic— not to say exaggerated — account of the 
“ small fire ” in the study, and wound up with an 
eloquent appeal to all to “ beware of fire,” and an 
assurance that there was nothing on the face of the 
whole earth that she had a greater horror of. 

Meanwhile the “ little spark ” among the papers — 
forgotten in the excitement of the succeeding blaze 
of the waste-paper basket — continued to do its slow 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


15 


but certain work. Having fallen on the cloth be- 
tween two bundles, it smouldered until it reached a 
cotton pen -wiper, which received it rather greedily 
in its embrace. This pen-wiper lay in contact with 
some old letters which were dry and tindery in their 
nature, and, being piled closely together in a heap, 
afforded enlarged accommodation for the “ spark,” 
which in about half an hour became quite worthy 
of being termed a “ swell.” 

After that things went on like — “ like a house 
on fire ” — if we may venture to use that too often 
misapplied expression, in reference to the elegant 
mansion in Beverly Square on that raw November 
night 


CHAPTER II 


INTRODUCES ANOTHER LITTLE “ SPARK” TO THE READER. 

Whistling is a fine, free, manly description of 
masic, which costs little and expresses much. 

In all its phases, whistling is an interesting sub- 
ject of study ; whether we regard its aptitude for 
expressing personal independence, recklessness, and 
jollity ; its antiquity — having begun no doubt with 
Adam — or its modes of production ; as, when 
created grandly by the whistling gale, or exas- 
peratingly by the locomotive, or gushingly by the 
lark, or sweetly by the little birds that “ warble in 
the flowering thorn.” 

The peculiar phase of this time-honoured music 
to which we wish to draw the reader’s attention at 
present, is that which was exemplified one Novem- 
ber night (the same November night of which 
mention has been made in the previous chapter) by 
a small boy who, in his progress through the streets 

of London, was arrested suddenly under the shadow 
16 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


17 


of Si. Paul's by the bright glare and the tempting 
fare of a pastry-cook's window. 

Being hungry, the small boy, thrusting his cold 
hands deep into his empty trouser-pockets, turned 
his fat little face and round blue eyes full on the 
window, and stared at the tarts and pies like a 
famishing owL Being poor — so poor that he pos- 
sessed not the smallest coin of the realm — he stared 
in vain ; and, being light of heart as well as stout 
of limb, he relieved his feelings by whistling at the 
food with inexpressible energy. 

The air selected by the young musician was Jim 
Crow — a sable melody high in public favour at that 
time — the familiar strains of which he delivered 
with shrill and tuneful precision, which intensified 
as he continued to gaze, until they rose above the 
din of cabs, vans, and 'busses ; above the house-tops, 
above the walls of the great cathedral, and finally 
awakened the echoes of its roof, which, coming out 
from the crevices and cornices where they usually 
slept, went dancing upwards on the dome, and 
played around the golden cross that glimmered like 
a ghost in the dark wintry sky. 

The music also awakened the interest of a tall 
policeman whose beat that night chanced to be St. 
Paul’s Churchyard. That sedate guardian of the 
night, observing that the small boy slightly impeded 
the thoroughfare, sauntered up to him, and just as 
B 3 


18 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


he reached that point in the chorus where Mr. Crow 
is supposed to wheel and turn himself about, spun 
him round and gave him a gentle rap on the head 
with his knuckles, at the same time advising him to 
move on. 

“ Oh !” exclaimed the small boy, looking up with 
an expression of deep concern on his counte- 
nance, as he backed off the pavement, “ I hope I 
didn’t hurt you, bobby ; I really didn’t mean to ; 
but accidents will happen, you know, an’ if you 
won’t keep your knuckles out of a feller’s way, 
why—” 

“ Come,” muttered the policeman, “ shut up your 
potato-trap for fear you kitch cold. Your mother 
wants you ; she ’s got some pap ready for you.” 

“ Ha !” exclaimed the small boy, with his head a 
little on one side, as though he were critically in- 
specting the portrait of some curious animal, “ a 
prophet it is — a blue-coated prophet in brass 
buttons, all but choked with a leather stock — if not 
conceit. A horacle, six fut two in its stockin’s. I 
say, bobby, whoever brought you up carried you up 
much too high, both in body and notions. Wot 
wouldrit they give for ’im in the Guards, or the 
hoss -marines, if he was only eight inches wider 
across the shoulders !” 

Seeing that the policeman passed slowly and 
gravely on without condescending to take further 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


19 


notice of him, the small boy bade him an affec- 
tionate farewell; said that he would not forget to 
mention him favourably at head- quarters, and then 
continued his progress through the crowded streets 
at a smart pace, whistling Jim Crow at the top of 
his shrill pipe. 

The small boy had a long walk before him ; but 
neither his limbs, spirits, nor lips grew weary by the 
way. Indeed, his energies seemed to increase with 
every step, if one might judge from the easy swagger 
of his gait, and the various little touches of pleasan- 
try in which he indulged from time to time ; such 
as pulling the caps over the eyes of boys smaller 
than himself, winking at those who were bigger, 
uttering Indian war-whoops down alleys and lanes 
that looked as if they could echo, and chaffing all 
who appeared to be worthy of his attentions. Those 
eccentricities of humour, however, did not divert his 
active mind from the frequent and earnest study of 
the industrial arts, as these were exhibited and 
exemplified in shop -windows. 

“ Jolly stuff that, ain’t it ?” observed another small 
boy, in a coat much too long for him, as they met 
and stopped in front of a chocolate- shop at the top 
of Holborn Hill, where a steam-engine was per 
petually grinding up such quantities of rich brown 
chocolate, that it seemed quite unreasonable, selfish, 
and dog-in-the manger -ish of the young man 


20 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


behind the counter to stand there, and neither eat it 
himself, nor let any one else touch it. 

“Yes, it’s very jolly stuff/’ replied the first small 
boy, regarding his questioner sternly. “ I know 
you ’d like some, wouldn’t you ? Go in now an’ buy 
two pen’orth, and I ’ll buy the half from you w’en 
you come out.” 

“ Walker /” replied the boy in the long coat. 

“ Just so ; and I ’d advise you to become a walker 
too,” retorted the other; “run away now, your 
master’s bin askin’ after you for half-an-hour, I 
know, an’ more.” 

Without waiting for a reply, the small boy (our 
small boy) swaggered away whistling louder than 
ever. 

Passing along Holborn, he continued his way into 
Oxford Street, where the print-shop windows proved 
irresistibly attractive. They seemed also to have 
the effect of stimulating his intellectual and concep- 
tive faculties, insomuch that he struck out several 
new, and, to himself, highly entertaining pieces of 
pleasantry, one of which consisted in asking a taci- 
turn cabman, in the meekest of voices — 

“Please, sir, you couldn’t tell me wot’s o’clock, 
could you ?” 

The cabman observed a twinkle in the boy’s eye ; 
saw through him, in a metaphorical sense, and treated 
him with silent contempt. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


21 


“ Oh, I beg pardon, sir/ continued the small boy, 
in the same meek tone, as he turned to move humbly 
away; “ I forgot to remember that cabbies don't carry 
no watches, no, nor change neither, they ’re much too 
wide awake for that !” 

A sudden motion of the taciturn cabman caused 
the small boy to dart suddenly to the other side of 
the crowded street, where he resumed his easy in- 
dependent air, and his interrupted tune. 

“ Can you direct me to Nottin’ Hill Gate, missus ?” 
he inquired of an applewoman, on reaching the 
neighbourhood of Tottenham Court Eoad. 

“ Straight on as you go, boy,” answered the woman, 
who was busying herself about her stall. 

“ Very good indeed,” said the small boy, with a 
patronizing air ; “ quite correctly answered. You ’ve 
learnt geography I see.” 

“What say?” inquired the woman, who was 
apparently a little deaf. 

“ I was askin’ the price o’ your oranges, missus.” 

“ One penny apiece,” said the woman, taking up 
one. 

“ They an’t biled to make ’em puff out, are they ?" 

To this the woman vouchsafed no reply. 

“ Come, missus, don’t be cross ; wot ’s the price o 
yer apples now ?” 

“ D’you want one ?” asked the woman testily. 

u Of course I does.” 

3 * 


22 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ Well, then, they ’re two a penny.” 

“ Two a penny !” cried the small hoy, with a look 
of surprise ; “ why, I ’d ’a said they was a penny 
apiece. Good evenin’, missus ; I never buys cheap 
fruit — cheap and nasty — no, no ; good evenin’.” 

It seemed as if the current of the small boy’s 
thoughts had been diverted by this conversation, for 
he walked for some time with his eyes cast on 
the ground, and without whistling, but whatever the 
feelings were that might have been working in his 
mind, they were speedily put to flight by a facetious 
butcher, who pulled his hat over his eyes as he 
passed him. 

“ Now then, pig-sticker, what d’ ye mean by that ?” 
he shouted, but as the butcher walked on without 
deigning to reply, he let off his indignation by yell- 
ing in at the open door of a tobacco-shop and mak- 
ing off at a brisk run. 

From this point in his progress, he became still 
more hilarious and daring in his freaks, and turned 
aside once or twice into narrow streets, where sounds 
of shouting or of music promised him fresh excite- 
ment. 

On turning the corner of one of those streets, he 
passed a wide doorway, by the side of which was a 
knob with the word Fire in conspicuous letters 
above it, and the word Bell below it. The small 
ooy paused, caught his breath as if a sudden thought 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


23 


had struck him, and glanced round. The street was 
comparatively quiet ; his heart beat high ; he seized 
the bell with both hands, pulled it full out, and 
bolted ! 

Now it chanced that one of the firemen of the 
station happened to be standing close to the door, 
inside, at the time. He, guessing the meaning of 
the ring at once, darted out and gave chase. 

The small boy fled on the wings of terror, with 
his blue eyes starting from their sockets. The fire- 
m9u was tall and heavy, but he was also strong and 
in his prime, so that a short run brought him up 
with the fugitive, whom he seized with a gripe of iron. 

“ Now, then, young bottle-imp, what did you 
mean by that ?” 

“ Oh ! please sir,” gasped the small boy, with a 
beseeching look, “ I couldn't help it.” 

There was such a tone of truthfulness in this 
“ couldn't ” that it tickled the fireman. His mouth 
relaxed in a quiet smile, and, releasing his intended 
victim, he returned to the station, while the small 
boy darted away in the direction of Oxford Street. 

He, had scarcely reached the end of the street, 
however, when a man turned the corner at full speed 
and ran him down ; — ran him down so completely 
that he sent him head- over- heels into the kennel, 
and, passing on, darted at the fire-bell of the station, 
which he began to pull violently, 


24 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


The man was tall and dishevelled, partially clad 
in blue velvet, with stockings which had once been 
white, but were now covered from garter to toe with 
mud. One shoe clung to his left foot, the other was 
fixed by the heel in a grating over a cellar- window 
in Tottenham Court Road. Without hat or coat, 
with his shirt-sleeves torn by those unfortunates 
into whose arms he had wildly rushed, with his hair 
streaming backwards, his eyes blood- shot, his face 
pale as marble, and perspiration running down his 
cheeks, not even his own most intimate friends 
would have recognised Hopkins, — the staid, soft- 
spoken, polite and gentle Hopkins, — had they seen 
him that night pulling like a maniac at the fire- 
bell. 

And, without doubt, Hopkins was a maniac that 
• night — at least he was afflicted with temporary in- 
sanity I 


CHAPTER III 


FIRE ! ! ! 

u Hallo, that ’ll do, man ! ” cried the same stal- 
wart fireman who had seized the small boy, stepping 
out and laying his hand on Hopkins’ shoulder, 
“ whereabouts is it ? ” 

Hopkins heard him not. One idea had burnt 
itself into the poor man’s brain, and that was the 
duty that lay on him to ring the alarm-bell ! Seeing 
this, the fireman seized him and dragged him forcibly 
— almost .lifted him — into the station, round the 
door of which an eager crowd had already begun to 
collect. 

“ Calm yourself,” said the stalwart fireman quietly, 
as he thrust Hopkins down into a chair. “ Consider 
now. You ’ll make us too late if you don’t speak. 
Where is it ? ” 

“ B — B— fire !” yelled Hopkins, gasping, and glar- 
ing round him on the men, who were quietly putting 
on their helmets. 

Hopkins suddenly burst from the grasp of his 


26 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


captor. And, rushing out, seized the bell-handle, 
which 4 \e began to pull more furiously than ever. 

“ Get her out, Jim,” said the fireman in a low tone 
to one of his comrades (“ her ” being the engine) ; at 
the same time he went to the door, and again 
seizing Hopkins, brought him back and forced him 
into a chair, while he said firmly — 

“ Now, then, out with it, man ; where ’s the fire ?” 

“ Yes, yes,” screamed Hopkins, “ fire ! fire ! that’s 
it ! B — ! B — Beverly !— blazes ! — square !— number 
— fire ! ” 

“ That ’ll do,” said the fireman, at once releasing 
the temporary maniac, and going to a book where 
he calmly made an entry of the name of the square, 
the hour of the night, and the nature of the call. 
Two lines sufficed. Then he rose, put on his helmet, 
and thrust a small hatchet into his belt, just as the 
engine was dragged to the door of the station. 

There was something absolutely magnificent in 
this scene which no pen can describe, because more 
than half its force was conveyed only by the eye 
and the ear. The strong contrast between human 
excitement and madness coupled with imbecility, 
and human calmness and self-possession coupled 
with vigorous promptitude, was perfect. 

Just before poor Hopkins rang his first note of 
alarm the station had been wrapt in profound 
silence, — the small boy’s interruption having been 


THE LONDON EIRE BRIGADE. 


27 


but a momentary affair. George Dale, the fireman 
in charge, was seated at a desk in the watch-room 
(known among firemen as the “ lobby ”), making an 
entry in a diary. All the other men — about thirteen 
in number — had gone to their respective homes and 
beds in the immediate neighbourhood, with the 
exception of the two whose turn it was to remain 
on duty all night. These two (named Baxmore and 
Corney), with their coats, belts, boots, and caps on, 
had just lain down on two low tressel couches, and 
were courting sleep. The helmets of their com- 
rades hung on the walls round the room, with belts 
and hatchets underneath them. Several pairs of 
boots also graced the walls, and a small clock, whose 
gentle tick was the only sound that broke the silence 
of the night. In an outer room the dim form of a 
spare engine could be seen through the doorway. 

The instant that the bell rang, however, this state 
of quietude was put to flight. The two men rose 
from their couches, and Dale stepped to the door. 
There was no starting up, no haste in their move- 
ments, yet there was prompt rapidity. The men, 
having been sailors, had been trained in the midst 
of alarms. The 'questions which were put to Hop- 
kins, as above described, were rapidly uttered. 
Before they were answered the two men were 
ready, and at Dale’s order, “ Get her out,” they both 
vanished. 


28 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


One ran round the corner to the engine-house 
and “ knocked up ” the driver in passing. The other 
ran from door to door of the firemen’s abodes, which 
were close at hand, and with a loud double-ring 
summoned the sleepers. Before he got back to 
help the first with the engine, one and another and 
another door opened, and a man darted out, button- 
ing braces or coat as he ran. Each went into the 
station, seized his helmet, belt, and axe from his 
own peg, and in another moment all were armed 
cap-a-pie. At the same instant that the engine 
appeared at the door a pair of horses were trotted 
up. Two men held them ; two others fastened the 
traces ; the driver sprang to his seat ; the others 
leaped to their respective places. Each knew what 
to do, and did it at once. There was no hurry, no 
loss of time, no excitement ; some of the men, even 
while acting with the utmost vigour and prompti- 
tude, were yawning away their drowsiness ; and in 
less than ten minutes from the moment the bell 
first rang, the whip cracked and the fire-engine 
dashed away from the station amid the cheers of 
the crowd. 

It may be as well to remark here, in passing, that 
the London Fire Brigade had, at the time of which 
we write, reached a high state of efficiency, although 
it could not stand comparison with the perfection 
of system and unity of plan which mark the 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


29 


organization and conduct of the Brigade of the 
present day. Mr. Braidwood, the able superinten- 
dent, had for many years been training his men on 
a system, the original of which he had begun and 
proved in Edinburgh. Modifying his system to suit 
the peculiarities of the larger field to which he had 
been translated, he had brought the “ Fire-Engine 
Establishment” (which belonged at that time to 
several insurance companies) to a state of efficiency 
which rendered it a model and a training-school for 
the rest of the world ; and although he had not the 
advantage of the telegraph or the powerful aid of 
the land steam fire-engine of the present day, he 
had men of the same metal as those which compose 
the force now ; indeed, many of the men who were 
alive in Mr. Braidwood’s time are alive still and 
doing duty. 

The “ Metropolitan Eire Brigade,” as it now exists 
under the control of the Metropolitan Board of 
Works, has been carried by its present chief, Cap- 
tain Eyre Massey Shaw, to a condition of efficiency 
little if at all short of perfection, its only fault 
being (if we may humbly venture a remark) that 
it is too small both in numbers of engines and 
men. 

Now, good reader, if you have never seen a Lon- 
don fire-engine go to a fire, you have no conception 
of what it is ; and even if you have seen it, but 


30 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


have not gone with it, still you have no idea of what 
it is ! 

To those accustomed to it, no doubt, it may he 
tame enough — we cannot tell; but to those who 
mount an engine for the first time and drive through 
the crowded thoroughfares of London at a wild 
tearing gallop, it is probably the most exciting drive 
conceivable. It beats steeple- chasing. It feels like 
driving to destruction — so wild and so reckless is 
it. And yet it is not reckless in the strict sense of 
that word ; for there is a stern need-be in the case. 
Every moment (not to mention minutes or hours) is 
of the utmost importance in the progress of a fire. 
Fire smoulders and creeps at first, it may be, but 
when it has got the mastery, and burst into flames, 
it flashes to its work and completes it quickly. At 
such times, one moment of time lost may involve 
thousands of pounds — ay, and many human lives S 
This is well known to those whose profession it is to 
light the flames. Hence the union of apparent mad 
desperation, with cool, quiet self-possession in their 
proceedings. When firemen can work in silence 
they do so. No unnecessary word is uttered, no 
voice is needlessly raised. Like the movements of 
some beautiful steam-engine, which, with oiled 
pistons, cranks, and levers, does its unobtrusive 
work in its own little chamber in comparative still- 
ness, yet with a power that would tear and rend to 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


31 


pieces buildings and machinery, so the firemen 
sometimes bend to their work quietly, though with 
mind and muscles strung to the utmost point of 
tension. At other times, like the roaring locomotive 
crashing through a tunnel or past a station, their 
course is a tumultuous rush, amid a storm of shout- 
ing and gesticulation. 

So was it on the present occasion. Had the fire 
been distant, they would have had to commence 
their gallop somewhat leisurely, for fear of breaking 
down the horses ; but it was not far off — not much 
more than a couple of miles — so they dashed round 
the corner of their own street at a brisk trot, and 
swept into Oxford Street. Here they broke into a 
gallop, and here the noise of their progress began, 
for the great thoroughfare was crowded with vehicles 
and pedestrians, many of whom were retiring from 
the theatres and music-halls, and other places of 
entertainment. 

To pass through such a crowd without coming 
into collision with anything required not only the 
most dexterous driving, but rendered it necessary 
that some of the men on the engine should stand up 
and shout, or rather roar incessantly, as they whirled 
along, clearing everything out of their way, and 
narrowly escaping innumerable crashes by a mere 
hairbreadth. 

The men, as we said before, having been sailors. 


32 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


seemed to shout with the memory of the boatswain 
strong upon them, for their tones were pitched in 
the deepest and gruffest bass-key. Sometimes 
there was a lull for a moment, as a comparatively 
clear space of a hundred yards or so lay before them ; 
then their voices rose like the roaring of the gale as 
a stupid or deaf cabman got in their way, or a 
plethoric ’bus threatened to interrupt their furious 
passage. 

The cross streets were the points where the chief 
difficulties met them. There the cab and van 
drivers turned into or crossed the great thoroughfare, 
all ignorant of the thunderbolt that was rushing on 
like a fiery meteor, with its lamps casting a glare of 
light before, and the helmets of its stern charioteers 
flashing back the rays of street-lamps and windows ; 
-for, late though the hour was, all the gin -palaces 
and tobacconists’ shops, and many of the restaurants, 
were still open and brightly illuminated. 

At the corner of Wells Street, the crowd of cabs 
and other vehicles was so great that the driver of 
the engine began to tighten his reins, and Jim 
Baxmore and Joe Corney raised their voice to a 
fierce shout. Cabs, ’busses, and pedestrians scat- 
tered right and left in a marvellous ’manner ; the 
driver slackened his reins, cracked his whip, and 
the horses stretched out again. 

In passing Berners Street, a hansom cab swept 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 33 

round the corner, its dashing driver smoking a cigar 
in sublime self-satisfaction, and looking carelessly 
right and left for a “ fare.” This exquisite almost 
ran into the engine ! There was a terrific howl 
from all the firemen ; the cabby turned his smart 
horse with a bound to one side, and lost his cigar in 
the act — in reference to which misfortune he was 
heartily congratulated by a small member of the 
Shoe-black Brigade, — while the engine went steadily 
and sternly on its way. 

“ There, it shows a light,” observed one of the fire- 
men to Dale, as he pointed to a luminous appearance 
in the sky away to the north-east. 

Dale was already looking in that direction, and 
made no reply. 

As they approached ^ttenham Court Road the 
driver again checked the pace a little ; yet even at 
the reduced speed they passed everything like a 
whirlwind. The traffic here was so great that it 
behoved them to be more cautious. Of course, the 
more need that there was for caution, the more 
necessity was there for shouting ; and the duty of 
Baxmore and Corney — standing as they did in front 
of their comrades beside the driver — became severe, 
but they had good lungs both of them ! 

At the point where Tottenham Court Road cuts 
Oxford Street, the accumulation of vehicles of all 
sorts, from a hand-barrow to a furniture-van, i a 
C 4* 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


34 • 

usually very great. To one unaccustomed to the 
powers of London drivers, it would have seemed 
nothing short of madness to drive full tilt into the 
mass that blocked the streets at this point. But 
the firemen did it. They reined up a little, it is 
true, just as a hunter does in gathering his horse 
together for a rush at a stone wall, but there was 
nothing like an approach to stopping. 

“ Hi ! hi ! ! HIM!” roared the firemen, Baxmore 
and Corney high above the rest. A ’bus lumbered 
to the left just in time ; a liansom sprang to the 
right, not a moment too soon ; a luggage-van bolted 
into Crown Street; the pedestrians scattered right 
and left, and the way was clear — no, not quite clear! 
The engine had to turn at a right angle here into 
Tottenham Court Road. Round it went on the two 
off- wheels, and came full swing on a market-gardener 
and a hot-coffee woman J*\vho were wheeling their 
respective barrows leisurely side by side, and chat- 
ting as they went. 

The roar that burst from the firemen was terrific. 
The driver attempted both to pull up and to turn aside. 
The market-gardener dropt his barrow and fled 
The hot-coffee woman, being of a resolute nature, 
thrust her barrow by main force on the footpath, and 
so saved her goods and herself by a hairbreadth, 
while the barrow of her friend was knocked in pieces. 
But the effort of the engine-driver to avoid this had 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


35 


Well-nigh resulted in serious consequences. In en- 
deavouring to clear the market-gardener he drew so 
near to the foot-path that in another moment a 
lamp-post would have been carried away, and the 
wheels of the engine, in all probability, knocked off, 
had not Joe Comey observed the danger. 

With a truly Irish yell Joe seized the rein next 
him, and pulled the horses round almost at a right 
angle. The nave of the hind- wheel just shaved the 
post as it flew by. The whole thing passed so 
swiftly . that before the market-gardener recovered 
from his consternation the engine was only discern- 
ible in the distance by the sparks that flew from its 
wheels as it held on in its furious way. 

All along its course a momentary disturbance of 
London equanimity was created. Families not yet 
abed rushed to their front windows, and, looking 
out, exclaimed, “ Ha ! the firemen.” Tipplers in gin- 
palaces ran to the doors and said, “ There they go,” 
“ That ’s your sort,” “ Hurrah my hearties !” or, “ Go 
it, ye cripples !” according to the different stages of 
inebriation at which they had arrived ; and belated 
men of business stopped to gaze, and then resumed 
their way with thoughts and speculations on fire and 
fire insurance, more or less deep and serious accord- 
ing to temperament. But the disturbance was only 
temporary. The families retired to their suppers or 
beds, the tipplers returned to their tipple, the belated 


36 


FIGHTINCt THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


speculators to their dreams, and in a few minutes 
(no doubt) forgot what they had seen, and forgot, 
perchance, that they had any personal interest in 
fire raising, or fire extinction, or fire prevention, or 
fire in any dangerous shape or form whatever, or in- 
dulged in the comforting belief, mayhap, that what 
ever disasters might attend the rest of the London 
community, they and their houses being endued with 
the properties of the salamander, nothing in the 
shape of fire might, could, would, or should kindle 
upon them. So true is it that “ all men think all 
men mortal but themselves !” 

Do you doubt this, reader? If so, go poll your 
acquaintance, and tell us how many of them have 
got rope-ladders, or even ropes, to escape from their 
houses should they take fire ; how many of them 
have got hand-pumps, or even buckets, placed so as 
to be handy in case of fire ; and how many of them 
have got their houses and furniture insured against 
fire ! 

Meanwhile, the fire-engine held on its way, until 
it turned into Beverly Square, and pulled short up in 
front of the blazing mansion of James Auberly 
Esquire. 

Another engine was already at work there. It 
had come from a nearer station, of the existence of 
which Hopkins had been ignorant when he set out 
on his wild race for help. The men of this engine 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


37 


were already doing their work quietly, but with per- 
ceptible effect, pouring incessant streams of water 
in at the blazing windows, and watching for the 
slightest lull in the ferocity of the smoke and dame 
to attack the enemy at closer quartern. 


CHAPTER IV. 


TELLS OF A FIEfiCE FIGHT WITH THE FLAMES. 

When the small boy — whose name, it may he as 
well to mention, was William {alias Willie) Willdera 
— saw the fire-engine start, as has been already 
described, his whole soul yearned to follow it, for, in 
the course of his short life, he had never succeeded 
in being at the beginning of a fire, although he had 
often been at the middle and end of one — not a very 
difficult thing in London, by the way, seeing that 
there are, on the average, between four and five fires 
every twenty -four hours ! 

Willie Willders was of an inquiring disposition. 
He wanted to know how things were managed at a 
fire, from the beginning to the end, and he found 
that the course of true inquiry, like another course 
we wot of, never did run smooth. 

Poor Willie's heart was with that engine, but his 
legs were not. They did their best, but they failed, 
strong and active though they were, to keep up with 
the horses. So WiUie heaved a bursting sigh and 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


39 


slackened his speed — as he had often done before in 
similar circumstances, — resolving to keep it in sight 
as long as he could, and trust to his eyesight and to 
the flames “ showing a light ” for the rest. 

Just as he came to this magnanimous resolve a 
strapping young gentleman called a passing cab, 
leaped in, ordered the driver to follow the engine 
and offered double fare if he should keep it in view 
up to the fire. 

Willie, being sharp as a needle, at once stepped 
forward and made as though he would open the dooi 
for the gentleman. The youth was already in and 
the door shut, but he smiled as he shouted to the 

t 

driver “All right,” and tossed a copper to Willie, 
with the remark, “ There, you scamp.” The copper 
fell in the mud, and there Willie left it, as he 
doubled nimbly behind the vehicle and laid hold 
of it. 

The cabman did his best to earn his double fare, 
and thus it came to pass that Willie was in time to 
see the firemen commencing work. 

As the young man leaped from the cab he uttered 
a cry of surprise and alarm, and rushed towards the 
crowd of firemen nearest to the burning house with- 
out paying his fare. Willie was a little astonished 
at this, but losing sight of the youth in the crowd, 
and seeing nothing more of him at that time, he 
became engrossed in, other matters. 


40 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


There were so many men on the ground, however 
— for just then a third engine dashed up to the 
scene of conflagration — that it was difficult for the 
excited boy to appreciate fully what he saw. He 
got as close to the engine, however, as the police- 
men would allow him, and observed that a fire-plug 
had been already opened, and over it had been 
placed a canvas cistern of about a yard long by 
eighteen inches broad, stretched on an iron frame. 
The cistern was filled with water to overflowing, 
and the first engine had placed its suction-pipe in 
it, while from the front of the engine extended the 
leathern hose that conveyed the water to the burning 
house. 

Willie was deeply interested in this, and was 
endeavouring to solve certain knotty points in his 
own mind, when they were suddenly solved for him 
by a communicative dustman who stood in the 
crowd close by, and thus expounded the matter to 
his inquisitive son. 

“You see, Tommy, the use o’ the cistern is hob- 
vious. See, here ’s ’ow it lies. If an ingin comes 
up an* screwges its suction on to the plug, all the 
other ingins as comes after it has to stan’ by an* do 
nuffin. But by puttin' the cistern over the plug an' 
lettin’ it fill, another ingin, or may be two more, can 
ram in its suction and drink away till it's fit to 
burst, d’ ye see,” 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


41 


Willie drank in the information with avidity, and 
then turned his attention to the front of the engine, 
to which several lengths of hose, each forty feet 
long, had been attached. Baxmore and Corney were 
at the extreme end, screwing on the “branch” or 
nozzle by which the stream of water is directed, 
and Dale was tumbling a half- drunk and riotous 
navvy head-over-heels into the crowd, in order to 
convince him that his services , to pump were not 
wanted — a sufficient number having been procured. 
A couple of policemen walked this navvy quietly 
from the scene, as Dale called out — 

“ Down with her, boys ! ” 

“ Pump away, lads ! ” said one of the firemen, 
interpreting. 

The volunteers bent their backs, and the white 
clouds of steam that issued from the burning house 
showed that the second engine was doing its work 
well. 

Immediately after, Dale and his men, with the 
exception of those required to attend the engine and 
the “ branch,” were ordered to get out the ladders. 

He who gave this order was a tall sinewy man, 
middle-aged apparently, and of grave demeanour. 
His dress was similar to that of the other firemen, 
but there was an air of quiet unobtrusive authority 
about him which showed that he was a leader. 

« We might get on the roof now, Mr. Braidwood,” 


42 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


suggested Dale, touching his helmet as he addressed 
the well-known chief of the London Fire-Engine 
Establishment. 

“ Not yet, Dale, not yet,” said Braidwood ; “ get 
inside and see if ye can touch the fire through the 
drawing-room floor. It’s just fallen in.” 

Dale and his men at once entered the front- door 
of the building, dragging the branch and hose along 
with them, and were lost in smoke. 

Previous to the arrival of the fire-engines, how- 
ever, a scene had been enacted which Willie Win- 
ders had not witnessed. A fire-escape was first to 
reach the burning house. This was then, and still 
is, usually the case, owing to the fact that escapes 
are far more numerous in London than engines, so 
that the former, being almost always close at hand, 
often accomplish their great work of saving life 
before the engines make their appearance. 

The escape in the immediate neighbourhood of 
Beverly Square was under the charge of conductor 
Samuel Forest, a man who, although young, had 
already saved many lives, in the service of the 
Society for the Protection of Life from Fire. 

When Forest reached the field of action, Mr. James 
Auberly was seen at an upper window in a state of 
undignified dishabille , shouting for help and half 
suffocated with smoke, with Mrs. Rose hanging round 
his neck on one side and Matty Merryon at the other 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


43 


Poor Auberly, having tried the staircase on the first 
alarm, was driven back by smoke, and rushed wildly 
to the window, where the two domestics, descending 
in terror from their attic, clung to him and ren- 
dered him powerless. 

Forest at once “ pitched” his escape — which was 
just a huge scientifically- constructed ladder, set on 
wheels. The head of it reached to the windows of 
the second floor. By pulling a rope attached to a 
lever, he raised a second ladder of smaller size, 
which was fitted to the head of the large one. The 
top of this second ladder was nearly sixty feet from 
the ground, and it reached the window at which 
Mr. Auberly was still shouting. Forest at once 
sprang up. 

“ Leave me; save the woman,” gasped Auberly, 
as the man entered the room ; but the dense smoke 
overpowered him as he spoke, and he fell forward. 
The women also sank to the ground. 

Forest instantly seized Mrs. Rose in his powerful 
arms, and hurrying down the ladder to the top of 
the escape, put her into the canvas trough or sack 
which was suspended below the ladder all the way. 
Down this she slid somewhat violently but safely 
to the ground, while Forest ran up again and 
rescued Matty in the same way. Mr. Auberly was 
more difficult to manage, being a heavy man; and 
his rescuer was almost overpowered by the thick 


44 FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 

smoke in the midst of which all this was done. He 
succeeded, however, hut fainted on reaching the 
ground. 

It was at this point that the first engine arrived, 
and only a few minutes elapsed when the second 
made its appearance, followed by the cab from which 
the young man leapt with the exclamation of sur- 
prise and alarm that had astonished Willie Willders. 

Pushing his way to the place where Mr. Auberly 
and the others lay, the youth fell on his knees. 
“ My father 1” he exclaimed wildly. 

“ He ’s all right, lad,” said Mr. Braid wood, coming 
up at that moment, and laying his hand kindly on 
the youth’s shoulder; “he’s only choked with smoke, 
and will be better in a minute. Any more in the 
house ?” he added quickly. 

Young Auberly leaped up with a shout. 

“ My sister ! is she not saved ? Are all here ?” 

He waited not for a reply, but in another moment 
was on the fire-escape. 

“ After him, two of you,” said Braidwood, turning 
to his men. 

Two at once obeyed. In fact, they had leaped 
forward almost before the brief command was 
uttered. One of these firemen was conspicuous for 
his height and strength. He was first up the 
ladder. Close upon him followed Baxmore with a 
lantern. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


45 


Nothing but smoke had yet reached the room 
into which young Auherly entered, so that he in- 
stantly found himself in impenetrable darkness, and 
was almost choked as well as blinded. 

“ Have a care, Frank ; the floor must be about 
gone by this time,” said Baxmore, as he ran after 
his tall comrade. 

The man whom he called Frank knew this. He 
also knew that it was not likely any one had been 
left in the room from which the master of the house 
had been rescued, and he thought it probable that 
his daughter would occupy a room on the same 
floor with her father. Acting on this supposition, 
and taking for granted that the room they were 
about to enter was Mr. Auberly’s bedroom, the tall 
fireman dashed at once through the smoke, and 
tumbled over the prostrate form of young Auherly. 

“Look after him, Baxmore,” he gasped, as he 
seized the lamp from his comrade’s hand, and 
darted across the room and out into the passage, 
where he went crash against a door and burst it 
open. Here the smoke was not so dense, so that he 
could breathe, though with difficulty. 

One glance showed him where the bed was. He 
felt it. A female form was lying on it. The light 
weight and the long hair which swept across his 
face as he raised it gently but swiftly on his 
shoulder, told that it was that of a girL 
5 * 


46 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A 1 ALE OF 


At that moment he heard a loud shout from the 
crowd, which was followed by a crash. Dashing 
once more, across the passage, he saw that a lurid 
flame was piercing the smoke in the other room. 
The staircase he knew was impassable, probably 
gone by that time ; but he had no time to think, so 
he drew the blanket over the girl’s head, and 
bounded towards the window. There was a feeling of 
softness under his feet, as if the floor were made of 
pasteboard. He felt it sinking beneath him. Down 
it went just as he laid hold of the head of the fire- 
escape, from which he hung suspended in the midst of 
the smoke and sparks that rose from the falling ruin. 

Strong though the young fireman was, he could 
not raise himself by one arm, while the other was 
twined round Louisa Auberly. At that moment, 
Baxmore having carried young Auberly down in 
safety, again ascended and appeared at the window. 
He seized Frank by the hair of the head. 

“Let go my hair and catch the girl !” shouted 
Frank. 

“ All right,” said Baxmore, seizing Loo and lifting 
her over the window-sill. 

. Frank being thus relieved, swung himself easily 
on the sill, and grasping Loo once more, descended 
to the street, where he was met by Mr. Auberly, 
who had recovered from his state of partial suffoca- 
tion. and who seized his child and hurried with her 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


47 


into a neighbouring house. Thither he was followed 
by Mrs. Eose and Matty, who had also recovered. 

During these episodes, the firemen had c ontinued 
at their work with cool and undistracted ; attention. 
And here the value of organization was i trikingly 
and beautifully brought out ; for, while tl ie crowd 
swayed to and fro, now breathless with anxiety lest 
the efforts of the bold conductor of the fi e-escape 
should fail ; anon wild with excitement an 1 loud in 
cheers when he succeeded, each fireman paid devoted 
and exclusive attention to his own prescribed piece 
of duty, as if nothing else were going on around him, 
and did it with all his might — well know ing that 
every other piece of work was done, or point of 
danger guarded, by a comrade, w 7 hile the eagle eye. 1 
of Mr. Braid wood and his not less watchful foremei . 
superintended all, observed and guided, as it were, 
the field of battle. 

And truly, good generalship was required , for the 
foe was fierce and furious. The “ devour : ng ele- 
ment” rushed omvard like a torrent. The house 
was large and filled with rich furniture, w] dch was 
luxurious food for the flames as they swept over the 
walls, twined round the balustrades, swalle wed the 
paintings, devoured the woodwork, and m lted the 
metal in their dread progress. But the foe that met 
them was, on this occasion, more than a match for 
the flames. It was a hand-to-hand encounter. The 


48 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES *. A TALE OF 


men followed them foot by foot, inch by inch — 
sometimes almost singeing their beards or being 
well-nigh choked and blinded by dense volumes of 
smoke, but, if driven back, always returning to the 
charge. The heat at times beat on their helmets so 
fiercely that they were forced to turn their faces 
aside and half- turn their backs on the foe, but they 
always kept their weapons — the ‘'branches’' — to the 
front, and continued to discharge upon him tons and 
tons of aqueous artillery. 

“ Get up to the windows now ; use the escape,” 
said Mr. Braidwood ; and as he said this he passed 
through the doorway of the burning house. 

Some of the men rushed up the escape and let 
down a line, to which one of the branches was made 
fast. 

“Avast pumpin’, number two !” shouted Baxmore 
from the midst of clouds of smoke that were bursting 
:>ut from the window. 

Number two engine was stopped. Its branch 
was pulled up and pointed inside straight at the 
fire; the signal given, “ Down with number two !” 
and a hiss was followed by volumes of steam. 

The work of extinction had at last begun in real 
earnest. As long as they could only stand in the 
street and throw water in through the windows at 
haphazard, they might or might not hit the fire — 
and at all events they could not attack its strong 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


49 


points ; but now, Baxmore at one window, and one 
of the men of the first engine at another, played 
point-blank into the flames, and, wherever the water 
hit, they were extinguished. Presently they got 
inside and began to be able to see through the 
smoke; a blue glimmer became visible, the branch 
was pointed, and it was gone. By this time the 
second floor had partly given way, and fire was 
creeping down the rafters to the eaves of the house. 
Baxmore observed this, and" pointed the branch 
straight up. The fire at that part was put out, and 
a heavy shower of water fell back on the fireman, 
drenching him to the skin. 

The attack had now become general. The fire- 
men swarmed in at the doors and windows the 
moment that it was possible for a human being to 
breathe the smoke and live. One of the engines 
attached two additional lengths of hose, dragged the 
branch through the first floor to the back of the 
house, got upon an outhouse, in at a back window, 
and attacked the foe in rear. On the roof, Frank 
and Dale were plying their hatchets, their tall 
figures sharply defined against the win&y sky, and 
looking more gigantic than usual. The enemy saved 
them the trouble of cutting through, however, for it 
suddenly burst upwards, and part of the roof fell in. 
It would certainly have taken Frank prisoner had 
not Dale caught him by the collar and dragged him 

D 


50 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES i A TALE OF 


out of danger. Instantly a branch was pointed 
downwards . ai id the foe was beaten back ; from 
above, below, before, and behind, it was now met 
with delug<*s of water, which fell on the shoulders 
of the me'i in the lower floor in a continuous 
hot showei, while they stood ankle-deep in hot 
water. 

In ten n mutes after this the fire was effectually 
subdued, the lower floor having been saved, although 
its contents were severely damaged by water. 

It was only necessary now that one of the engines 
should reman i for a time to make good the victory. 
The others rc l led up their hose and prepared to de- 
part. The King Street engine was the first to quit 
the field of baf fle. While the men were getting 
ready, Mr. Auhsrly, muffled in a long cloak, stepped 
from the crowd and touched Frank, the tall fireman, 
on the shoulder. 

“ Sir,” said he in a low voice, “ you saved my child. 
I would show my sense of gratitude. Will you 
accept of this purse?” 

Frank shook his head, and a smile played on his 
smoke-begrimed countenance as he said — 

“ No, Mi . Auberly. I am obliged to you, but 1 
cannot accept of it. I do not want it, and besides, 
the men of the brigade are not allowed to take 
money.” 

“ But you will let me do something for yda?” 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


61 


urged Mr. Auberly. “ Is there nothing that I can 
do?” 

“Nothing, sir,” said Frank. He paused for a 
moment, and then resumed — “Well, there is some- 
thing that perhaps you could do, sir. I have a little 
brother out of employment ; if you could get him a 
situation, sir — ” 

“ I will,” said Mr. Auberly with emotion. “ Send 
him to me on Thursday forenoon. He will find me 
living next door to my — to my late home. I shall 
stay with a friend there for some time. Good-night.” 

7 Men of King Street engine get up,” cried Dale. 

“Stay — what is your name?” said Mr. Auberly, 
turning round. 

But Frank was gone. He had leaped to his place 
on the engine and was off at rattling pace through 
the now silent and deserted streets of the sleeping 
city. 

Although they drove at great speed there was no 
shouting now, for neither ’bus, cab, nor foot-pas- 
senger blocked up the way, and the men, begrimed 
with smoke and charcoal, wet, and weary with two 
hours of almost uninterrupted labour of a severe as 
well as dangerous character, sat or stood in their 
places in perfect silence. 

On reaching the fire station they leaped to the 
ground, and all went quickly and silently to their 
neighbouring homes and beds, except the two men 


52 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


on duty. These, changing their coats and boots, lay 
down on the tressels, and at once fell fast asleep — 
the engine and horses having been previously housed 
— and then Dale sat down to make an entry of the 
event in his day-book. 

The whole thing might have been only a vivid 
dream, so silent was the room and so devoid of any 
evidence of recent excitement, while the reigning 
tranquillity was enhanced rather than decreased by 
the soft breathing of the sleepers, the ticking of the 
clock, and the scratching of Dale’s pen as he briefly 
recorded the facts of the fire that night in Beverly 
Square. 


CHAPTER V. 


•HOWS HOW WILLIE WILLDERS GOT INVOLVED IN DOUBLE DIFFICULTY, 
TO HIS INTENSE DELIGHT. 

During the progress of the fire, small Willie 
Willders was in a state of the wildest, we might 
almost say hilarious, excitement. He regarded not 
the loss of property ; the fire never struck him in 
that light. His little body and big spirit rejoiced in 
the whole affair as a magnificent display of fire- 
works and heroism. 

When the fire burst through the library windows 
he shouted ; when Sam Forest, the conductor of the 
fire-escape, saved Mr. Auberly and the women, he 
hurrahed ; when the tall fireman and Baxmore 
rescued Louisa Auberly he cheered and cheered 
again until his shrill voice rose high above the 
shouting of the crowd. When the floors gave way 
he screamed with delight, and when the roof fell in 
he shrieked with ecstasy. 

Sundry and persevering were the efforts he made 

to break through the police by fair means and foul ; 

53 6 


54 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


but, in his energy, he over-reached himself, for he 
made himself so conspicuous that the police paid 
special attention to him, and wherever he appeared 
he was snubbed and thrust back, so that his great 
desire to get close to the men while they were at 
work was frustrated. 

Willie had a brother who was a fireman, and he 
wished earnestly that he might recognise him, if 
present ; but he knew that, being attached to the 
southern district of the city, he was not likely to be 
there, and even if he were, the men were all so much 
alike in their uniform, that it was impossible a}; a 
distance to distinguish one from another. True it 
is that his brother was uncommonly tall, and very 
strong ; but as the London firemen were all picked 
men, many of them were very tall, and all of them 
were strong. 

Not until the last engine left the ground, did 
Willie Willders think it advisable to tear himself 
away, and hasten to his home in Nottinghill, where 
he found his mother sitting up for him in a state of 
considerable anxiety. She forbore to question him 
that night however. 

When Willie appeared next morning — or rather, 
the same morning, for it was nearly four o'clock 
when he went to bed — he found his mother sitting 
by the fire knitting a sock. 

Mrs. Willders was a widow, and was usually 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


55 


to be found seated by the fire knitting a sock, 
or darning one, or mending some portion of male 
attire. 

“ So you were at a fire last night, Willie ?” said 
the widow. 

“Yes I was,” replied the boy, going up to hi 
mother, and giving her what he styled a “ ryoster 
ing” kiss, which she appeared to like, although she 
was scarcely able to bear it, being thin and delicately 
formed, and somewhat weak from bad health. 

“No lives lost, I hope, Willie ?” 

“ No ; there ain’t often lives lost, when Sam Forest 
the fire-escape-man is there. You know Forest, 
mother, the man that we ’ve heard so much of ? Ah, 
it was sitch fun ! You ’ve no notion ! It would 
have made you split your sides wi’ laughin’ if you ’d 
seen Sam come out o’ the smoke carryin’ the master 
o’ the house on his shoulder in his shirt and drawers, 
with only one sock on, an’ his night- cap tied so 
tight under his chin that they had to cut it off— him 
in a swound too, hangin’ as limp as a dead eel on 
Sam’s shoulder, with his head down one side an' 
his legs down the other. Oh, it was a lark !” 

The boy recalled “ the lark” to his own mind so 
vividly, that he had to stop at this point, in order to 
give vent to an uproarious fit of laughter. 

“ Was Frank there ?” inquired the widow, whe*» 
the fit subsided. 


56 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


t: Not that I know of, mother ; I looked hard foi 
him, hut didn’t see him. There was lots o’ men big 
enough to be him ; but I couldn’t get near enough 
to see for the bobbies. I wonder what them bobbies 
were made for !” continued Willie, with a look of 
indignation, as he seated himself at the table, and 
began to eat a hearty breakfast ; “ the long lamp- 
posts ! that are always in the way when nobody 
wants ’em. I do believe they was invented for 
nothin’ else than to aggravate small boys and snub 
their inquiring minds.” 

“ Where was the fire, Willie ? ” 

“ In Beverly Square. — I say, mother, if that there 
butcher don’t send us better stuff than this here 
bacon in future, I ’ll — I ’ll have to give him up.” 

“ I can’t afford to get better, dear,” said the 
widow meekly. 

“ I know that, mother ; but he could afford to 
give better. However, it’s down now, so it don’t 
much matter.” 

“ Did you hear whose house was burned, Willie ?” 

“ Ay, a Mr. Oberly, or somethin’ like that.” 

“ Auberly !” exclaimed the widow, with a start. 

** Well, p’raps it is Auberly ; but whichever it is, 
he’s got a pretty kettle o’ fish to look after this 
momin’. You seem to have heard of him before, 
mother ?” 

“ Yes, Willie, I — I know him a — at least I have 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


5*4 


met with him often. You see I was better off once, 
and used to mingle with — but I need not trouble you 
with that. On the strength of our former acquaint- 
ance, I thought I would write and ask him to get 
you a situation in an office, and I have got a letter 
from him, just before you came down to breakfast, 
saying that he will do what he can, and bidding 
me send you to him between eleven and twelve 
to-morrow.” 

“ Whew !” whistled Willie, “ an’ he burnt out o’ 
house an’ home, without a coat to his back or a shoe 
to his foot. It strikes me 1 11 have to try to get 
him a situation.” 

“He won’t be found at the house, now, I dare 
say, my son, so we 11 have to wait a little ; but the 
burning of his house and furniture won’t affect him 
much, for he is rich.” 

“ Humph ! p’raps not,” said Willie ; “ but the 
burnin’ of his little girl might have — ” 

“You said that no lives were lost,” cried Mrs. 
Willders, turning pale. 

“Ho more there was, mother; but if it hadn’t 
bin for one o’ the firemen that jumped in at a 
blazin’ winder an’ brought her out through fire an* 
smoke, she ’d have bin a cinder by this time, an 
money wouldn’t have bought the rich man another 
daughter, I know.” 

« True, my son,” observed Mrs. Willders, resting 
6 * 


58 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


her forehead on her hand; then, as if suddenly re- 
collecting something, she looked up and said, “ Willie, 
I want you to go down to the City with these socks 
to Frank. This is his birthday, and I sat late last 
night on purpose to get them finished. His station 
is a long way off, I know, but you ’ve nothing else 
to do, so — ” 

“Nothin’ else to do, mother !” exclaimed Willie, 
with an offended look. “ Haven’t I got to converse 
in a friendly way with all the crossin’ -sweepers an’ 
shoeblacks an’ stall- women as I go along, an’ chaff 
the cabbies, an’ look in at all the shop -windows, and 
insult the bobbies ? I always insult the bobbies. 
It does me good. I hurt ’em, mentally, as much as 
I can, an’ I ’d hurt ’em bodily if I could. But every 
dog has his day. When I grow up won't I .pitch 
into ’em ! ” 

He struck the table with his fist, and, shaking 
back his curly hair, lifted his blue eyes to his 
mother’s face with a stern expression, which gra- 
dually relaxed into a smile. 

“ Ah, you needn’t grin, mother, an’ tell me that 
the ' policemen ’ are a fine set of men, and quite as 
brave and useful in their wa} 7 as the firemen. I 
know all you respectable sort o’ people think that, 
but I don’t. They’re my natural enemies, and I 
hate ’em. Come, mother, give me the socks and let 
me be off.” 


tfHR LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


Soon the vigorous urchin was on his way to the 
City, whistling, as usual, with all his might. As 
he passed the corner of the British Museum a hand 
touched him on the shoulder, and its owner said — 

“ How much are ye paid a week, lad, fe r k icking 
up such a row ? ” 

Willie looked round, and his eyes encountered the 
brass buckle of the waist-belt of a tall si capping 
fellow in a blue uniform. Glancing upwards, he 
beheld the handsome countenance of hi? brother 
Frank looking down at him with a quiet smile. 
He wore no helmet, for except when attending a 
fire the firemen wear a sailor- like blue ( lot h cap. 

“ Hallo, Blazes ! is that you ? ” cried i he boy. 

“Just so, Willie; goin down to Watling Street 
to attend drill.” 

Willie (who had styled his brother “ Blai.es” ever 
since he joined the fire brigade) observed that he 
happened to be going in the same direction 1 o de'iver 
a message from his mother to a relation, which he 
would not speak about, however, just the a, as he 
wished to tell him of a fire he had been at last 
night. 

“ A fire, lad ; was it a big one ? ” 

“Ay, that it was; a case o’ burnin’ out almost; 
and there were lives saved,” said the boy, wii ti a look 
of triumph: “and that’s more than you can say 
you ’ve seen, though you are a fireman.” 


60 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


"Well, you know I have not been long in the 
brigade, Willie, and as the escapes often do their 
work before the engines come up, I’ve not had 
much chance yet of seeing lives saved. How was 
it done ? ” 

With glowing eyes and flushed cheeks Willie at 
once launched out into a vivid description of the 
scene he had so recently witnessed, and dwelt parti- 
cularly on the brave deeds of conductor Forest and 
the tall fireman. Suddenly he looked up at his 
brother. 

“ Why, what are you chucklin' at, Blazes ? ” 

“ Nothing, lad. Was the fireman very tall ?” 

“ That he certainly was — uncommon tall” 

“ Something like me ? ” said Frank. 

A gleam of intelligence shot across the boy's face 
as he stopped and caught his brother by the sleeve, 
saying earnestly— 

" It wasn't you, Frank, was it ? " 

“ It was, Willie, and right glad am I to have been 
in such good luck as to save Miss Auberly.” 

Willie grasped his brother's hand and shook it 
heartily. 

“ You 're a brick, Blazes,” said he, “ and this is 
your birthday, an’ I wish you luck an’ long life, my 
boy. YouTl do me credit yet, if you go on as 
you 've begun. Now, I ’ll go right away back an* 
tell mother. Won’t she be fit to bu'st ? " 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


61 


“ But what about your message to the relation in 
the City ? ” inquired Frank. 

“ That relation is yourself, and here ’s the message, 
in the shape of a pair o’ socks from mother ; knitted 
with her own hands ; and, by the way, that reminds 
me — how came you to be at the fire last night ? 
It ’s a long way from your station.” 

“ I ’ve been changed recently,” said Frank ; “ poor 
Grove was badly hurt about the loins at a fire in 
New Bond Street last week, and I have been sent 
to take his place, so I ’m at the King Street station 
now. But I have something more to tell you before 
you go, lad, so walk with me a bit farther.” 

Willie consented, and Frank related to him his 
conversation with Mr. Auberly in reference to him- 
self. 

“ I thought of asking leave and running out this 
afternoon to tell you, so it ’s as well we have met, as 
it will — . Why, what are you chuckling at, Willie ?” 

This question was put in consequence of the boy’s 
eyes twinkling and his cheeks reddening with sup- 
pressed merriment. 

“ Never mind, Blazes. I haven’t time to tell ycu 
just now. I’ll tell you some other time. So old 
Auberly wants to see me to-morrow forenoon ? ” 

“ That ’s what he said to me,” returned Frank. 

“ Very good ; I ’ll go. Adoo, Blazes — farewell” 

So saying, Willie Willders turned round and went 


62 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


off a*- a ri .n, chuckling violently. He attempted to 
whii tie c nee or twice, but his mouth refused to 
retai a thi necessary formation, so he contented him- 
self with chuckling instead. And it is worthy of 
reco d tl'Ht that small boy was so much engrossed 
with his own thoughts on this particular occasion 
that he d id not make one observation, bad, good, or 
indiberei t, to any one during his walk home. He 
even received a question from a boy smaller than 
himself rs to whether ‘his mother knew he was out/ 
with *ut making any reply, and passed innumerable 
policeme 1 without even a thought of vengeance ! 

“ ] ,et i ae see,” said he, muttering to himself as he 
paus id 1 eside the Marble Arch at Hyde Park, and 
leaned h s head against the railings of that structure ; 
“ Mr. A iberly has been an’ ordered two boys to 
be se; it t» > him to-morrow forenoon — ha ! he ! sk !” (the 
chucl lin r got- the better of him here)— “ very good. 
An’ i ay mother has ordered one o’ the boys to go, 
while a tall fireman has ordered the other. How, 
the < ues ion is, which o’ the two boys am I — the one 
or the t\ther — ha ! sk ! ho ! Well, of course both o* 
the 1 »oys will go; they can’t help it, there ’s no gittin’ 
ovei tha» ; but, then, which of ’em will git the situa- 
tion ? 3 'here ’s a scruncher for you, Mr. Auberly. 

You ’ll have to fill your house with tar an’ turpen- 
tine an’ set fire to it over again ’afore you ’ll throw 
light on that pint. S’pose I should go in for both 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


63 


situations ! It might be managed. The first boy 
could take a well paid situation as a clerk, an' the 
second boy might go in for night-watchman at a 
bank.” (Chuckling again interrupted the flow of 
thought.) “ P’raps the two situations might be got in 
the same place o’ business ; that would be handy ! 
Oh ! if one o’ the boys could only be a girl, what a 
lark that would — sk ! ha ! ha !” 

He was interrupted at this point by a shoe-black, 
who remarked to his companion — 

“ I say, Bob, ’ere ’s a lark. ’Ere ’s a feller bin an’ 
got out o’ Bedlam, a larfin at nothink fit to burst 
hisself ! ” 

So Willie resumed his walk with a chuckle that 
fully confirmed the member of the black brigade in 
his opinion. 

He went home chuckling and went to bed chuck- 
ling, without informing his mother of the cause of 
his mirth. Chuckling he arose on the following 
morning, and, chuckling still, went at noon to Beverly 
Square, where he discovered Mr. Auberly standing, 
gaunt and forlorn, in the midst of the ruins of kia 
once elegant mansion. 


CHAPTER VI. 


TBIAT8 OF THE DIFFICULT QUESTION, “ WHEN ONE IS ANOTHER WIN 
IS WHICH ? ” 

“ Well, boy, what do you want ? Have you any- 
thing to say to me.” 

Mr. Auberly turned sharp round on Willie, whose 
gaze had gone beyond the length of simple curiosity. 
In fact, he was awe-struck at the sight of such a 
very tall and very dignified man standing so grimly 
in the midst of such dreadful devastation. 

“ Please, sir, I was sent to you, sir, by — ” 

“ Oh, you ’re the boy, the son of, that is to say 
you were sent to me by your mother,” said Mr. 
Auberly with a frown. 

“ Well, sir,” replied Willie, hesitating, “ I — I — was 
sent by — by — ” 

“ Ah, I see,” interrupted Mr. Auberly with a smile 
that was meant to be gracious, “ you were sent by a 
fireman ; you are not the — the — I mean you ’re the 
other boy” 

Poor Willie, being of a powerfully risible nature, 

64 


THE LONDON EIRE BRIGADE. 


65 


found it hard to contain himself on hearing his own 
words of the previous evening re-echoed thus un- 
expectedly. His face became red, and he took 
refuge in blowing his nose, during which process — 
having observed the smile on Mr. Auberly’s face — 
he resolved to be “ the other boy.” 

“ Yes, sir,” he said, looking up modestly, “ I was 
sent by a fireman ; I am the other hoy.” 

Mr. Auberly smiled again grimly, and said that 
the fireman was a brave fellow, and that he had 
saved his daughters life, and that he was very glad 
to do anything that lay in his power for him, and 
that he understood that Willie was the fireman’s 
brother ; to which the boy replied that he was. 

“ Well, then, come this way,” continued Mr. 
Auberly, leading Willie into the library of the 
adjoining house, which his friend had put at his 
disposal, and seating himself at a writing-table. 
“ You want a situation of some sort — a clerkship, I 
suppose ?” 

Willie admitted that his ambition soared to that 
tremendous height. 

“ Let me see,” muttered Mr. Auberly, taking up 
pen and beginning to write ; “ yes, she will he able 
to help me. What is your name, boy ?” 

" Willie, sir.” 

“ Just so, William; and your surname — your 
other name ?” 

E 


7 


66 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ Willders, sir.” 

Mr. Auberly started, and looked Willie full in the 
eyes. Willie* feeling that he was playing a sort of 
double part without being able to avoid it, grew red 
in the face. 

“ What did you say, boy ?” 

“ Willders,” replied Willie stoutly. 

“ Then you ’re not the other boy,” said Mr. Auberly, 
laying down his pen, and regarding Willie with a 
frown. 

“ Please, sir,” replied Willie, with a look of meek- 
ness which was mingled with a feeling of despera- 
tion, for his desire to laugh was strong upon him, 
“ please, sir, I don’t rightly know which boy I am.” 

Mr. Auberly paused for a moment. 

“ Boy, you’re a fool !” 

“ Thank ’ee, sir,” said Willie. 

This reply went a long way in Mr. Auberly’s 
mind to prove the truth of his assertion. 

“ Answer me, boy,” said Mr. Auberly, with an 
impressive look and tone ; “ were you sent here by 
a fireman ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied Willie. 

“ What is his name ? ” 

“ Same as mine, sir — Willders.” 

“ Of course, of course,” said Mr. Auberly, a little 
confused at having put such an unnecessary ques 
tion. “ Does your mother know you ’re here X * 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


67 


This brought the slang phrase, “ Does your mother 
know you ’re out ?” so forcibly to the boy’s mind, that 
he felt himself swell internally, and had recourse 
again to his pocket-handkerchief as a safety-valve. 

“ Yes, sir,” said he, on recovering his composure ; 
“ arter I saw Blazes — Frank, I mean, that’s my 
brother, sir — I goes right away home to bed. I 
stops with my mother, sir, an’ she saw me come off 
here this mornin’, sir. She knows I was cornin’ 
here.” 

“ Of course ; yes, yes, I see,” muttered Mr. 
Auberly, again taking up his pen. "I see; yes, 
yes ; same name — strange coincidence, though ; but 
after all, there are many of that name in London. 
I suppose the other boy will be here shortly. Very 
odd, very odd indeed.” 

“ Please, sir,” observed Willie, in a gentle tone, 
you said I was the other boy, sir.” 

Mr. Auberly seemed a little annoyed at his mut- 
tered words being thus replied to, yet he conde- 
scended to explain that there was another boy of the 
same name whom he expected to see that morning. 

« Oh, then there ’s another other boy, sir ? ” said 
Willie, with a look of interest. 

“ Hold your tongue ! ” said Mr. Auberly in a 
sharp voice ; “ you ’re a fool, and you ’re much too 
fond of speaking. I advise you to keep your tongue 
quieter if you wish to get on in life.” 


08 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Willie once more sought relief in his pocket- 
handkerchief, while his patron indited and sealed 
an epistle, which he addressed to “ Miss Tippet, 
No. 6 Poorthing Lane, Beverly Square.” 

“ Here, boy, take this to the lady to whcm it is 
addressed — the lane is at the opposite corner of the 
square — and wait an answer.” 

“ Am I to bring the answer back to you, sir ? ” 
asked Willie with much humility. 

“ No ; the answer is for yourself,” said Mr. Auberly 
testily ; “ and hark ’ee, hoy, you need not trouble me 
again. That note will get you all you desire.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” said Willie, making a bow, and 
preparing to retire; "‘but please, sir, I don’t very 
well know, that is to say — ahem ! ” 

“ Well, boy ? ” said the patron sternly. 

“ Excuse me, sir ; I can’t help it you know ; but 
please, sir, I wish to explain about that other boy 
— no, that’s me, but the other other boy, you 
know — ” 

“ Begone, boy ! ” cried Mr. Auberly in a voice so 
stern that Willie found himself next moment in the 
street, along which he ran chuckling worse than 
ever. 

A little reflection might have opened Mr. Auberly’s 
eyes to the truth in regard to Willie, but a poor 
relation was to him a disagreeable subject of con- 
templation, and he possessed the faculty, in an 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


69 


eminent degree, of dismissing it altogether from his 
mind. Having care enough on his mind at that 
time, poor man, he deliberately cast the confusion 
of the two boys out of his thoughts, and gave him- 
self up to matters more interesting and personal. 

We may add here that Mrs. Willders was faithful 
to her promise, and never more addressed her 
brother-in-law by word or letter. When Willie 
afterwards told her and Frank of the absurdity of 
his interview, and of the violent manner in which 
Mr. Auberly had dismissed him when he was going 
to explain about the “ other ” boy, his mother thought 
it best to let things rest as they stood, yet she often 
wondered in her own quiet way what Mr. Auberly 
would think of her and of the non-appearance of 
the “ other ” boy ; and she felt convinced that if he 
only put things together he must come to under- 
stand that Willie and Frank were her sons. But 
Mrs. Willders did not know of the before-men- 
tioned happy facility which her kinsman possessed 
of forgetting poor relations ; so, after wondering on 
for a time, she ceased to wonder or to think about 
it at alL 


7 * 


CHAPTER VII. 

IHTR0DU0E8 NEW CHARACTERS, AND EXHIBITS THE THOUGHTS THAT 
SOME WOMEN ENTERTAIN IN REGARD TO MEN. 

Miss Emelina Tippet was a maiden lady of pleas- 
ing countenance and exceedingly uncertain age. 

She was a poor member of a poor branch of an 
aristocratic family, and feeling an unconquerable 
desire to breathe, if not the pure unadulterated 
atmosphere of Beverly Square, at least as much of 
it as was compatible with a very moderate income, 
she rented a small house in a very dark and dismal 
lane leading out of that great centre of refinement. 

It is true that Beverly Square was not exactly 
“the West End,” but there are many degrees of 
West-endiness, so to speak, in the western neigh- 
bourhood of London, and this square was, in the 
opinion of Miss Tippet, the West-endiest place she 
knew, because there dwelt in it, not only a very 
genteel and uncommonly rich portion of the com- 
munity, but several of her own aristocratic though 
distant relations, among whom was Mr. Auberly. 

70 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


71 


The precise distance of the relationship between 
them had never been defined, and all records bearing 
on it having been lost in the mists of antiquity, it 
could not now be ascertained ; but Miss Tippet laid 
claim to the relationship, and as she was an ob 
liging, good-humoured, chatty, and musical lady, 
Mr. Auberly admitted the claim. 

Miss Tippet’s only weakness — for she was indeed 
it most estimable woman— was a tendency to allow 
rank and position to weigh too much in her esteem. 
She had also a sensitive abhorrence of everything 
“ low and vulgar,” which would have been, of course, 
a very proper feeling had she not fallen into the 
mistake of considering humble birth lowness, and 
want of polish vulgarity — a mistake which is often 
(sometimes even wilfully) made by persons who 
consider themselves much wiser than Miss Tippet, 
but who are not wise enough to see a distinct shade 
of true vulgarity in their own sentiments. 

The dark, dismal lane, named Poorthing Lane, 
besides forming an asylum for decayed and would-be 
aristocrats, and a vestibule, as it were, to Beverly 
Square, was a convenient retreat for sundry green- 
grocers and public-house keepers and small trades- 
people, who supplied the densely-peopled surround- 
ing district, and even some of the inhabitants of 
Beverly Square itself, with the necessaries of life. 
It was also a thoroughfare for the gay equipages of 


72 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


the square, which passed through it daily on theii 
way to and from the adjoining stables, thereby en- 
dangering the lives of precocious babies who could 
crawl but could not walk away from home, as well 
as affording food for criticism and scandal, not to 
mention the leaving behind of a species of second- 
hand odour of gentility such as coachmen and foot- 
men can give forth. 

Miss Tippet’s means being small, she rented a 
proportionately small residence, consisting of two 
floors, which were the upper portion of a house, 
whose ground floor was a toy-shop. The owner of 
the toy-shop, David Boone, was Mi^s Tippet’s land- 
lord ; but not the owner of the tenement. He 
rented the whole, and sublet the upper portion. 
Miss Tippet’s parlour windows commanded a near 
view of the lodging opposite, into every corner aii(j 
crevice of which she could have seen had not the 
windows been incrusted with impenetrable dirt. 
Her own domestic arrangements were concealed 
from view by small green Venetian blinds, which 
rose from below and met the large Venetians which 
descended from above. The good lady’s bedroom 
windows in the upper floor commanded a near 
view — much too near — of a stack of chimneys, 
between which and another stack, farther over, she 
had a glimpse of part of the gable end of a house, 
and the topmost bough of a tree in Beverly Square. 


THE LONDON EIRE BRIGADE. 


73 


It was this prospect into paradise, terrestrially 
speaking, that influenced Miss Tippet in the choice 
of her abode. 

When William Willders reached the small door 
of No. 6 Poorthing Lane, and raised his hand to 
knock, the said door opened as if it had been trained 
to admit visitors of its own accord, and Miss Matty 
Merryon issued forth, followed by a bright blue- 
eyed girl of about twelve years of age. 

“Well, boy, was ye cornin’ here?” inquired 
Matty, as the lad stepped aside to let them pass. 

“ Yes I was. Does Miss Tippet live here ?” 

“ She does, boy, what d’ ye want with her ?” 

“ I want to see her, young ’ooman, so you ’d 
better cut away up an’ tell her a gen’lm’n requests a 
few words private conversation with her.” 

The little girl laughed at this speech, and Matty, 
addressing Willie as a “ dirty spalpeen,” said he 
had better go with her to a shop first, and she ’d 
then take him back and introduce him to Miss 
Tippet. 

“ You see I can’t let yn in all be yer lone, cushla; 
for what would the neighbours say, you know ! 
I Tn only goin’ to the toy-shop, an’ won’t kape ye 
a minit, for Miss Emma don’t take long to her 
bargains.” 

Willie might probably have demurred to this 
delay, but on hearing that the blue- eyed girl 


74 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


wanted to make purchases, he at once agreed to the 
proposal, and followed them into the toy- shop. 

David Boone, who stepped out of the back-shop 
to serve them, was, if we may say so, very unlike 
his trade. A grave, tall, long-legged, long-nosed, 
raw-boned, melancholy-looking creature such as he, 
might have been an undertaker, or a mute, or a 
sexton, or a policeman, or a liorse-guardsman, or 
even a lawyer ; but it was the height of impropriety 
to have made him a toy -shopman, and whoever did 
it had no notion whatever of the fitness of things. 
One could not resist the idea that his clumsy legs 
would certainly upset the slender wooden toys with 
which the floor and counters were covered, and his 
fingers seemed made to break things. The figure of 
Punch which hung from the ceiling appeared in- 
clined to hit him as he passed to and fro, and the 
pretty little dolls with the sweet pink faces, and 
very flaxen hair and cerulean eyes were evidently 
laughing at him. 

Nevertheless David Boone was a kind-hearted 
man, very fond of children, and extremely un- 
like, in some respects, what people imagined him 
at first sight to be. 

“Well, Miss Ward, what Can I supply you with 
to-day?” said he blandly. 

“ Please, Mr. Boone, I want a slate and a piece of 
slate-pencil.” Emma looked up with a sweet smile 


THE LONDON FILE BRIGADE. 


75 


at the tall shopman, who looked down upon hei 
with grave benignity, as he produced the articles 
required. 

“D’ you kape turpentine ?” said Matty, as they 
were about to quit the shop. 

Boone started, and said almost testily, “No, I 
don't. Why do you ask ?” 

“ Sure there ’s no sin in askin',” replied Matty, in 
surprise at the man’s changed manner. 

“ Of course — of course not,” rejoined Boone, with 
a slight look of confusion, as he made a sudden 
assault with his pocket-handkerchief on the cat, 
which was sleeping innocently in the window ; “ git 
out o’ that, you brute ; you ’re always agoin’ in the 
winder, capsizin’ things. There ! you ’ve been an’ 
sat on the face o’ that ere wax doll till you ’ve 
a’most melted it. Out o’ that with you ! No, Miss 
Merryon,” he added, turning to the girl with his 
wonted urbanity, “ I don’t keep turpentine, and I 
was only surprised you should ask for it in a toy- 
shop ; but you ’ll get it of Mr. White next door 
I don’t believe there ’s any think in the world as he 
can’t supply to his customers.” 

David Boone bowed them out, and then re-entered 
the back-shop, shaking his head slowly from side to 
side. 

“ I don't like it — I don’t even like to think of it, 
Gorman,” he said to a big low-browed man who sat 


76 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


smoking his pipe beside the little fireplace, the fire 
in which was so small that its smoke scarcely 
equalled in volume that of the pipe he smoked : 
“No, I don't like it, and I won’t do it.” 

“ Well, well, you can please yourself/’ said Gor- 
man, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and placing 
it in his vest pocket, as he rose and buttoned his 
thick pea-jacket up to the chin ; “ but I ’ll tell you 
what it is, if you are a descendant of the hunter of 
the far west that you boast so much about, it’s 
precious little of his pluck that you ’ve got ; an’ so 
I tell ’ee to your face, David Boone. All I ’ve got to 
say is, that you’d better be wise and take my 
advice, and think better of it.” 

So saying Gorman went out, and slammed the 
door after him. 

Meanwhile Miss Matty Merryon, having pur- 
chased a small phial of turpentine, returned to 
No. 6, and ushered Willie Willders into the pre- 
sence of her mistress. 

Miss Emelina Tippet was neither tall nor stiff, 
nor angular nor bony; on the contrary, she was 
little and plump, and not bad-looking. And people 
often wondered why Miss Tippet was Miss Tippet 
and was not Mrs. Somebody else. Whatever the 
reason was, Miss Tippet never divulged it, so we 
won’t speculate about it here. 

“A note, boy, from Mr. Auberly ?” exclaimed 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


77 


Miss Tippet, with a beaming smile ; “ give it me 
— thank you.” 

She opened it and read attentively, while Master 
Willie glanced round the parlour and took mental 
notes. Miss Emma Ward sat down on a stool in 
the window, ostensibly to “ do sums,” but really to 
draw faces, all of which bore a strong caricatured 
resemblance to Willie, at whom she glanced slyly 
over the top of her slate. 

Matty remained standing at the door to hear 
what the note was about. She did not pretend to 
busy herself about anything. There was no subter- 
fuge in Matty. She had been Miss Tippet’s confi- 
dential servant before entering the service of Mr. 
Auberly, and her extremely short stay in Beverly 
Square had not altered that condition. She had 
come to feel that she had a right to know all Miss 
Tippet’s affairs, and so waited for information. 

“ Ah V* exclaimed Miss Tippet, still reading, “yes; 
‘get him a situation in your brother’s office’ (oh, cer- 
tainly, I ’ll be sure to get that) ; * he seems smart, I 
might almost say impu — ’ (ahem ! Yes, well — ).” 

“Boy,” said Miss Tippet, turning suddenly to 
Willie, “your name is William Willders, I be- 
lieve ?” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“Well, William, Mr. Auberly, my relative, asks 
me to get you into my brother’s — my brother’s, 
8 


78 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


what s ’is name, — office. Of course I shall be happy 
to try. I am always extremely happy to do any- 
thing for — yes, I suppose of course you can write, 
and, what d’ye call it — count — you can do aiith- 
metic ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” replied Willie. 

“ And you can spell — eh ? I hope you can spell, 
Edward, a — I mean Thomas — is it, or William ?” 

Miss Tippet looked at Willie so earnestly and 
put this question in tones so solemn that he was 
much impressed, and felt as if all his earthly hopes 
hung on his reply, so he admitted that he could 
spell 

“ Good,” continued Miss Tippet. “ You are, I 
suppose, in rather poor circumstances. Is your 
father poor?” 

“ He ’s dead, ma’am ; was drowned.” 

“ Oh ! shocking, that ’s very sad. Was your motheT 
drowned too ?” 

“ No, ma’am, she ’s alive and well — at least she ’s 
well for her , but she an’t over strong. That ’s why I 
want to get work, that I may help her; and she 
wants me to be a clerk in a office, but I ’d rather be 
a fireman. You couldn’t make me a fireman, could 
you, ma’am ? ” 

At this point Willie caught Miss Ward gazing 
intently at him over the top of her slate, so he threw 
ber into violent confusion by winking at her. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


79 


“ No, boy, I can’t make you a fireman. Strange 
wish — why d’you want to be one ?” 

“ ’Cause it ’s sitch jolly fun,” replied Willie, with 
real enthusiasm, “ reg’lar bangin'' crashin’ sort o 
work — as good as fightin’ any day ! An’ my brother 
Frank’s a fireman. Sitch a one, too, you’ve no 
notion : six fut four he is, an’ as strong as — oh ! 
why, ma’am, he could take you up in one hand, 
ma’am, an’ twirl you round his head like an old hat ! 
He was at the fire in Beverly Square last night.” 

This speech was delivered with such vehemence, 
contained so many objectionable sentiments, and 
involved such a dreadful supposition in regard to 
the treatment of Miss Tippet’s person, that the 
worthy lady was shocked beyond all expression. The 
concluding sentence, however, diverted her thoughts. 

“ Ah ! was he indeed at that sad fire, and did he 
help to put it out ?” 

“ Sure, an’ he did more than that,” exclaimed 
Matty, regarding the boy with sudden interest. “ If 
that was yer brother that saved Miss Loo he 's a 
ra’al man — ” 

“ Saved Loo!” cried Miss Tippet; "was it yowr 
brother that saved Loo ?” 

“ Yes, ma’am, it was.” 

“ Bless him ; he is a noble fellow, and I have 
great pleasure in taking you by the hand for hia 
sake.” 


80 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Miss Tippet suited the action to the "word, and 
seized Willie’s hand, which she squeezed warmly. 
Matty Merryon, with tears in her eyes, embraced 
him, and said that she only wished she had the 
chance of embracing his brother too. Then they all 
said he must stay to lunch, as it was about lunch- 
time, and Miss Tippet added that he deserved to 
have been born in a higher position in life — at least 
his brother did, which was the same thing, for he 
was a true what ’s-’is-name, who ought to be crowned 
with thingumygigs. 

Emma, who had latterly been looking at Willie 
with deepening respect, immediately crowned him 
with laurels on the slate, and then Matty rushed 
away for the lunch- tray — rejoicing in the fire, that 
had sent her back so soon to the old mistress whom she 
never wanted to leave ; that had afforded scope for 
the display of such heroism, and had brought about 
altogether such an agreeable state of unwonted 
excitation. 

Just as the party were on the point of sitting 
down to luncheon, the street-door knocker was 
applied to the door with an extremely firm touch. 

“ Miss Deemas !” exclaimed Miss Tippet. “ Oh ! 
I ’m so glad. Eusli, Matty.” 

Matty rushed, and immediately there was a sound 
on the wooden passage as of a gentleman with 
heavy boots. A moment later, and Matty ushered 


THE LONDON EIRE BRIGADE. 


81 


in a very tall, broad-shouldered, strapping lady ; if 
we may venture to use that expression in reference 
to one of the fair sex. 

Miss Deemas was a sort of human eagle. She 
had an eagle eye, an aquiline nose, an eagle flounce, 
and an eagle heart. Going up to Miss Tippet, she 
put a hand on each of her shoulders, and stooping 
down, pecked her, so to speak, on each cheek. 

“ How are you, my dear ?” said Miss Deemas, not 
by any means tenderly ; but much in the tone in 
which one would expect to have one’s money or 
one’s life demanded. 

“ Quite well, dear Julia, and so glad to see you. 
It is so good of you to take me by surprise this way ; 
just at lunch-time too. Another plate and knife, 
Matty. This is a little boy — a friend — not exactly 
a friend, but a — a thingumy, you know.” 

“ Ho I don’t know, Emelina, what is the precise 
‘ thingumy’ you refer to this time,” said the uncom- 
promising and matter-of-fact Miss Deemas. 

“ You ’re so particular, dear Julia,” replied Miss 
Tippet with a little sigh; “a what’s-’is-n — , a 
'prot6g£ > you know.” 

“ Indeed,” said Miss Deemas, regarding Willie 
with a severe frown, as if in her estimation all 
yrotigts were necessarily villains. 

"Yes, dear Julia, and, would you believe it, that 
this boy’s brother-in-law — ” 

F 8* 


82 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


" Brother, ma’am,” interrupted Willie. 

“ Yes, brother, actually saved my darling’s life 
last night, at the — the thing in Beverly Square.” 

“ What ‘ darling’s’ life, and what ‘ thing’ in 
Beverly Square ?” demanded Miss Deemas. 

“ What ! have you not heard of the fire last night 
in Beverly Square — my relative. James Auberly — 
living there with his family — all burnt to ashes — 
and my sweet Loo too. A what ’s-’is-name was 
brought, and a brave fireman went up it, through 
fire and water and smoke. Young Auberly went 
up before him and fell — heat and suffocation — and 
saved her in his arms, and his name is Frank, and 
he ’s this boy’s brother-in-law.” 

To this brief summary, given with much excite- 
ment, Miss Deemas listened with quiet composure, 
and then said with grim sarcasm, and very slowly — 

“ Let me see ; there was a fire in Beverly Square 
last night, and James Auberly, living there with his 
family, were all burned to ashes — ” 

Miss Tippet here interrupted with “ No, no but 
her stern friend imposing silence, with an eagle look, 
continued — 

“ All burned to ashes, and also your sweet Loo. 
A ‘ what’s-his-name’ having been brought, a brave 
fireman goes up it, and apparently never comes 
down again (burned to ashes also, I fancy) ; but 
young Auberly, who went up before him, and fell- - 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


83 


heat and suffocation being the result — saved some 
one named ‘ her' in his arms ; his name being Frank 
(owing no doubt to his having been re-baptized, for 
ever since I knew him he has been named Fred- 
erick), and he is this boy’s brother-in-law !” 

By way of putting an extremely fine point on her 
sarcasm, Miss Deemas turned to Willie, with a very 
condescending air, and said — 

“ Pray, when did your sister marry Mr. Frederick 
Auberly V* 

Willie, with a face of meekness, that can only be 
likened to that of a young turtle-dove, replied- — 

“ Please, ma’am, it isn’t my sister as has married 
Mr. Auberly ; but it ’s my brother, Frank Willders, 
as hopes to marry Miss Loo Auberly, on account 
o’ havin’ saved her life, w’en she comes of age, 
ma’am.” 

Miss Deemas stood aghast, or rather sat aghast, 
on receiving this reply, and scanned Willie’s face 
with one of her most eagle glances ; but that small 
piece of impudence wore an expression of weak 
good-nature, and winked its eyes with the humility 
of a subdued pup, while Miss Tippet looked half- 
horrified and half-amused; Matty grinned, and 
Emma squeaked through her nose. 

“ Boy,” said Miss Deemas severely, “ your looks 
belie you.” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” answered Willie, “ my mother 


84 - 


fighting THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


always said I wasn’t half so bad as I looked ; and 
she ’s aware that I ’m absent from home.” 

At this point Willie allowed a gleam of intelli- 
gence to shoot across his face, and he winked to 
Emma, who thereupon went into private convulsions 
in her handkerchief. 

“ Emelina,” said Miss Deemas solemnly, “ let 
me warn you against that boy. He is a bad 
specimen of a bad sex. He is a precocious type of 
that base, domineering, proud and perfidious creature 
that calls itself ‘lord of creation,’ and which, in 
virtue of its superior physical power, takes up 
every position in life worth having” (“ except that of 
wife and mother,” meekly suggested Miss Tippet), 
“ worth having ” (repeated the eagle sternly, as if the 
position of wife and mother were not worth having), 
“ worth having, and leaves nothing for poor weak 
bodied, though not weak-minded woman to do, 
except sew and teach brats. Bah ! I hate men, and 
they hate me ; I know it, and I would not have it 
otherwise. I wish they had never been made. I 
wish there had been none in the world but women. 
What a blessed world it would have been then /” 

Miss Deemas hit the table with her hand, in a 
masculine manner, so forcibly, that the plates and 
glasses rattled, then she resumed, for she was now 
on a favourite theme, and was delivering a lecture 
to a select audience. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


85 


“ But, mark you, J’m not going to be put down 
by men. I mean to fight ’em w 7 ith their own 
weapons. I mean to — ” 

She paused suddenly at this point, and, descending 
from her platform, advised Miss Tippet to dismiss 
the boy at once. 

Poor Miss Tippet prepared to do so. She was 
completely under the power of Miss Deemas, whom, 
strange to say, she loved dearly. She really believed 
that they agreed with each other on most points, 
although it was quite evident that they were utterly 
opposed to each other in everything. Wherein the 
bond lay no philosopher could discover. Possibly 
it lay in the fact that they were absolute extremes, 
and, in verification of the proverb, had met: 

Be this as it may, a note was quickly written to 
her brother, Thomas Tippet, Esq., which was deli - 
vered to Willie, with orders to take it the following 
evening to London Bridge, in the neighbourhood of 
which Mr. Tippet dwelt and carried on his business 


CHAPTER VJTI. 

DISCLOSES A HIDDEN FIRE, WHICH IS SUPPOSED TO BE UNEXTINGUI8H- 

ABLE, AND REVEALS SOME STRANGE TIPPLING PROPENSITIES, ETC. 

In the afternoon of the following day Willie set 
off to the City in quest of Mr. Thomas Tippet. 
Having to pass the King Street fire -station, he 
resolved to look in on his brother. 

The folding-doors of the engine-house were wide 
open, and the engine itself, clean and business-like, 
with its brass-work polished bright, stood ready for 
instant action. Two of the firemen were conversing 
at the open door, while several others could be seen 
lounging about inside. In one of the former Willie 
recognised the strong man who had collared him on 
a well-remembered occasion. 

“ Please, sir,” said Willie, going up to him, “ is 
Frank Willders inside ? ” 

4 Why, youngster,” said Dale, laying his hand on 
Willie’s head, “ ain’t you the boy that pulled our beU 
for a lark the other night ?” 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


87 


“ Yes, sir, I am ; but you let ine off, you know, so 
I hope you won’t bear me ill-will now! 3 

“ That depends on how you behave in future,” 
said Dale, with a laugh ; “ but what d’you want with 
Frank Willders ?” 

“ I want to see him. He ’s my brother.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! You T1 find him inside.” 

Willie entered the place with feelings of interest, 
for his respect for firemen had increased greatly 
since he had witnessed their recent doings at the 
Beverly Square fire. 

He found his brother writing at the little desk 
that stood in the window, while five or six of his 
comrades were chatting by the fire, and a group in 
a corner were playing draughts and spinning yarns 
of their old experiences. All assisted in loading the 
air with tobacco -smoke. 

The round cloth caps worn by the men gave them 
a much more sailor-like and much less fireman-like 
appearance than the helmets, which, with their re- 
spective hatchets, hung on the walls, rendering the 
apartment somewhat like a cavalry guard-room. 
This change in the head-piece, and the removal of 
the hatchet, was the only alteration in their cos- 
tume in what may be styled “times of peace.” 
In other respects they were at all times accoutred, 
and in readiness to commence instant battle witb 
the flames. 


88 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ Hallo, Blazes ! how are ye?” said Willie, touch- 
ing his brother on the shoulder. 

/‘ That you, Willie ? ” said Frank, without looking 
up from his work. “ Where away now ? ” 

" Come to tell ye there ’s a fire said Willie, with 
a aerious look. 

“Eh? what d’ye mean?” asked Frank, look- 
ing at his brother, as if he half- believed he was in 
earnest. 

“I mean what I say— a fire here,” said Willie, 
solemnly striking his breast with his clenched fist, 
“ here in Heart Street, Buzzum Square, ragin’ like 
fury, and all the ingins o’ the fire brigade, includin’ 
the float, couldn’t put it out, no, nor even so much 
as squeanch it ! ” 

“ Then it ’s of no use our turning out, I suppose ? ” 
said Frank with a smile, as he wiped his pen ; “ what 
set it alight, lad ? ” 

“ A wax doll with flaxen hair and blue eyes,” 
answered Willie ; “ them ’s the things as has all 
along done for me. When I was a boy I failed in 
love with a noo wax doll every other day. Not 
that I ever owned one myself ; I only took a squint 
at ’em in toy-shop winders, and they always had 
flaxen hair and blue peepers. Now that I’ve be- 
come a man, I ’ve bin an’ failed in love with a livin’ 
wax doll, an’ she’s got flaxen hair an’ blue eyes; 
moreover, she draws.” 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


89 


“ Draws, boy ! what does she draw — corks?” in- 
quired Frank. 

“No!” replied Willie, with a look of supreme 
contempt ; “ nothin’ so low ; she draws faces an’ 
pictures like— like — a schoolmaster, and,” added 
Willie, with a sigh, “ she ’s bin an’ drawed all the 
spirit out o’ this here buzzum.” 

“ She must hav e left a good lot o’ combustible 
matter behind, however, if there ’s such a fire raging 
in it. Who may this pretty fire-raiser be ? ” 

“ Her name is Emma Ward, and she b’longs to a 
Miss Tippet, to whom she ’s related somehow, but I 
don’t know where she got her nor who ’s her parents 
This same Miss Tippet is some sort of a relation o' 
Mr. Auberly, who sent me to her with a note, ano 
she has sent me with another note to her brother 
near London Bridge, who, I ’spose, will send me 
with another note to somebody else, so I 'm on my 
way down to see him. I thought I ’d look in to 
ask after you in passin’, and cheer you on to dooty.” 

A violent fit of somewhat noisy coughing from 
one of the men at the fireplace attracted Willie’s 
attention at this point in the conversation. 

“ Wot a noisy feller you are, Corney,” remarked 
one of the men. 

“ Faix,” retorted Corney, “ it ’s noisy you ’d be too, 
av ye had the cowld in yer chist that I have. Sure, 
if ye had bin out five times in wan night as I wos 
9 


90 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


on Widsenday last, wid the branch to howld in a 
smoke as 'ud choke Baxmore hisself (an’ it's well 
known he can stand a’most anything), not to spake 
o' the hose bu'stin' right betune me two feet.” 

“ Come, come, Paddy,” said Dale, interrupting ; 
“ don’t try to choke us, now ; you know very well 
that one of the fires was only a cut-away affair; 
two were chimneys, and one was a false alarm.” 

“ True for ye ! ” cried Corney, who had a tendency 
to become irascible in argument, or while defending 
himself ; “ true for ye, Mister Dale, but they was 
alarms for all that, false or thrue, was they not 
now ? Anyhow they alarmed me out o’ me bed five 
times in a night as cowld as the polar ragions, and 
the last time was a raale case o’ two flats burnt out, 
an’ four hours’ work in iced wather.” 

There was a general laugh at this point, followed 
by several coughs and sneezes, for the men were 
all more or less afflicted with colds, owing to the 
severity of the weather and the frequency of the 
fires that had occurred at that time. 

“ There ’s some of us can sing chorus to Corney,’* 
observed one of the group. “ I never saw such 
weather; and it seems to me that the worse the 
weather the more the fires, as if they got ’em up a 
purpose to kill us.” 

“Bill Moxey!” cried another, “you’re always 
givin’ out some truism with a face like Solomon/ 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


91 


“Well, Jack Williams/’ retorted Moxey, “it’s 
more than I can say of you, for you never say any- 
thing worth listenin’ to, and you couldn’t look like 
Solomon if you was to try ever so much. You ’re 
too stoopid for that.” 

“ I say, lads ! ” cried Frank Willders, “ what d’ ye 
say to send along to the doctor for another bottle o’ 
cough mixture, same as the first ? ” 

This proposal was received with a general laugh. 

“ He ’ll not send us more o’ that tipple, you may 
depend,” said Williams. 

“ No, not av we wos dyin’,” said Corney, with a 
grin. 

“ What was it ? ” asked Williams. 

“ Didn’t you hear about it ? ” inquired Moxey. 
“ Oh, to be sure not ; you were in hospital after you 
got run over by the Baker Street engine. Tell him 
about it, Corney. It was you that asked the doctor, 
wasn’t it, for another bottle ? ” 

Corney was about to speak, when a young fireman 
entered the room with his helmet hanging on his 
arm. 

“ Is it go on ? ” he inquired, looking round. 

" No, it ’s go back, young Bags,” replied Baxmore, 
as he refilled his pipe ; “ it was only a chimney, 
so you ’re not wanted.” 

■ ‘ Can any o’ you fellers lend me a bit o’ baccy ? * 
asked Bags. “ I ’ve forgot to fetch mine.” 


92 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ Here you are,” said Dale, offering him a piece of 
twist. 

“ Han’t ye got a bit o’ hard baccy for the tooth ? ” 
said Rags. 

“ Will that do ? ” asked Frank Willders, cutting 
off a piece from a plug of cavendish. 

“ Thank ’ee. Good afternoon.” 

Young Rags put the quid in his cheek, and went 
away humming a tune. 

In explanation of the above incident, it is neces- 
sary to tell the reader that when a fire occurs in 
any part of London at the present time, the fire- 
station nearest to it at once sends out its engines 
and men, and telegraphs to the head or centre 
station at Watling Street. London is divided into 
four districts, each district containing several fire 
stations, and being presided over by a foreman. 
From Watling Street the news is telegraphed to the 
foremen’s stations, whence it is transmitted to the 
stations of their respective districts, so that in a few 
minutes after the breaking out of a fire the fact is 
known to the firemen all over London. 

As we have said, the stations nearest to the scene 
of conflagration turn out engines and men ; but the 
other stations furnish a man each. Thus machinery 
is set in motion which moves, as it were, the whole 
metropolis ; and while the engines are going to the 
fire at full speed, single men are setting out from 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


93 


every point of the compass to walk to it, with their 
sailors’ caps on their heads and their helmets on 
their arms. 

And this takes place in the case of every alarm of 
fire, because fire is an element that will not brook 
delay, and it does not do to wait to ascertain whether 
it is worth while to turn out such a force of men for 
it or not. 

In order, however, to prevent this unnecessary 
assembling of men when the fire is found to be 
trifling, or when, as is sometimes the case, it is a 
false alarm, the fireman in charge of the engine that 
arrives first at once sends a man back to the station 
with a “ stop,” that is, with an order to telegraph 
to the central station that the fire turns out to be 
only a chimney or a false alarm, and that all hands 
who have started from the distant stations may be 
“ stopped.” The “ stop ” is at once telegraphed to 
the foremen, from whom it is passed (just as the 
“ call ” had been) to the outlying stations, and this 
second telegram may arrive within quarter of an 
hour of the first. 

Of course the man from each station has set out 
before that time, and the “ stop ” is too late for him, 
but it is his duty to call at the various fire stations 
he happens to pass on the way, where he soon finds 
out whether he is to “ go on ” or to “ go back.” 

If no telegram has been received, he goes on to 
9 * 


94 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


the fire ; sometimes walking four or five miles to it, 
“ at not less than four miles an hour.” On coming 
up to the scene of conflagration he puts on his 
helmet, thrusts his cap into the breast of his coat, 
and reports himself to the chief of the fire brigade 
(who is usually on the spot), or to the foreman in 
command, and finds, probably, that he has arrived 
just in time to be of great service in the way of 
relieving the men who first attacked the flames. 

If, on the other hand, he finds that the “ stop ” 
has been telegraphed, he turns back before having 
gone much more than a mile from his own station, 
and so goes quietly home to bed. In the days of 
which we write the effective and beautiful system 
of telegraphy which now exists had not been applied 
to the fire stations of London, and the system of 
“ stops ” and “ calls,” although in operation, was 
carried out much less promptly and effectively by 
means of messengers. 

Some time before the entrance of Willie Willders 
into the King Street station the engine had been 
turned out to a fire close at hand, which proved to 
be only a chimney on fire, and which was put out by 
means of a hand-pump and a bucket of water, while 
Moxey was sent back with the “ stop ” to the station. 
The affair was over and almost forgotten, and the 
men had resumed their pipes, as we have seen, when 
young Bags entered and was told to “ go back.” 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


95 


Apologizing for this necessary digression, we 
return to Joe Corney. 

“ The fact was,” said he, “ that we had had a 
fearful time of it that winter — blowin’ great guns 
an’ snow nearly every night, an-’ what wi’ heat at 
the fires an’ cowld i’ the streets, an' hot wather 
pourin’ on us at wan minit an’ freezin’ on us the 
nixt, a’most every man Jack of us was coughin’ an’ 
sneezin’, and watherin’ so had at our eyes an’ noses, 
that I do belave if we ’d held ’em over the suction- 
pipes we might ha’ filled the ingins without throublin’ 
the mains at all. So the doctor he said, says he, 
4 Lads, I ’ll send ye a bottle o’ stuff as ’ll put ye right.* 
An’ sure enough down comes the bottle that night 
when we was smokin’ our pipes just afther roll-call. 
It turned out to be the best midcine ever was. 
‘ Musha ! ’ says I, ‘ here ’s the top o’ the marnin’ to 
ye, boys ! ’ Baxmore he smacks his lips when he 
tastes it, opens his eyes, tosses off the glass, and 
holds it out for another. ‘ Howld on ; fair play ! ’ 
cried Jack Williams, so we all had a glass round. 
It was just like lemonade or ginger-beer, it was. 
So we sat down an’ smoked our pipes over it, an 
spun yarns an’ sung songs ; in fact, we made a 
jollification of it, an’ when we got up to turn in 
there warn’t a dhrop left i’ the bottle ! 

“ * You better go to the doctor for another bottle,* 
says Moxey, as he wint out, 


96 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


‘ * I will/ says I ; ‘ I ’ll go i’ the marnin’. 

“ Sure enough away I goes i’ the marnin’ to Doctoi 
Offley. ‘ Doctor/ says I, howldin’ out the bottle, 
' we all think our colds are much the better o’ this 
here midcine, an’ I corned, av ye plaze, for another 
o’ the same.’ 

“ Musha ! but ye should ha’ seen the rage he goes 
off into. ‘ Finished it all ?’ says he. ‘ Ivery dhrop, 
doctor/ says I, * at wan sittin’.’ At that he stamped 
an’ swore at me, an’ ordered me away as if I ’d bin 
a poor relation ; an’ says he, ‘ I ’ll sind ye a bottle 
to-night as ’ll cure ye!’ Sure so he did. The 
second bottle would have pison’d a rat. It lasted us 
all six months, an’ I do belave ye ’ll find the most of 
it in the cupboard at this minnit av ye look.” 

“ Come, Willie,” said Frank, while the men were 
laughing, at the remembrance of this incident, “ I ’m 
going down your way and will give you a convoy. 
W e can take a look in at the gymnastics as we pass, 
if you choose.” 

“ All right, Blazes, come along.” So saying they 
left the station, and set off at a brisk pace in the 
direction of the City. 


CHAPTEE IX. 

WHEREIN WILL BE FOUND REFERENCE TO AUCTIONS AND OTXNASTIOS. 

As the brothers drew near to the busy region of 
the City which lies to the north of London Bridge, 
Frank turned aside into one of the narrow streets 
that diverge from the main thoroughfare. 

“ Where are ye goin’ ?” inquired Willie. 

“ There was a fire here last night,” said Frank ; * I 
want to have a look at the damage.” 

“A fire!” exclaimed Willie. “Why, Blazes, it 
strikes me there’s bin more fires than usual last 
night in London.” 

“ Only two, lad.” 

“ Only two ! How many would you have ?” asked 
Willie, with a laugh. 

“Don’t you know,” said Frank, “that we have 
about four fires every night ? Sometimes more, some- 
times fewer. Of course, we don’t all of us turn out 
to them ; but some of the brigade turn out to that 
number, on an average, every night of the year.” 

“ Are ye jokin’, Frank ?” 

G 


98 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ Indeed I am not. I wish with all my heart 
I could say that I was joking. It’s a fact, boy. 
You know I have not been long in the force, yet 
I ’ve gone to as many as six fires in one night, and 
we often go to two or three. The one we are going 
to see the remains of just now was too far from us 
for our engine to turn out ; but we got the call to 
send a man on, and I was sent. When I arrived 
and reported myself to Mr. Braidwood, the two top 
floors were burnt out, and the fire was nearly got 
under. There were three engines, and the men 
were up on the window-sills of the second floor, 
■with the branches, playin’ on the last of the flames, 
while the men of the salvage-corps were getting 
the furniture out of the first floor. Conductor 
Brown was there with his escape, and had saved a 
whole family from the top floor, just before I 
arrived. He had been changed from his old station 
at the west end that very day. He ’s a wonderful 
fellow that conductor ! Many a life he has saved ; 
but indeed, the same may be said of most of the 
men in the force, especially the old hands. — Here 
we are, lad. This is the house.” 

Frank stopped, as he spoke, in front of a ruined 
tenement ; or rather, in front of the gap which was 
now strewn with the charred and blackened debris, 
of what had once been a house. The street in 
which it stood was a narrow mean one, inhabited by 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


99 


a poor, and, to judge from appearance, a dissipated 
class. The remains of the house were guarded by 
policemen, while a gang of men were engaged in 
digging among the ruins, which still smoked a little 
here and there. 

“What are they diggin’ for ?” asked Willie. 

“ I fear they are looking for dead bodies. The 
house was let out to lodgers, and swarmed with 
people. At first it was thought that all were saved ; 
but just before I was ordered home, after the fire 
was got under, some one said that an old man and 
his grandchild were missing. I suppose they're 
looking for them now.” 

On inquiring of a policeman, however, Frank 
learned that the remains of the old man and his grand- 
child had already been found, and that they were 
searching for the bodies of others who were missing. 

A little beyond the spot where the fire had 
occurred, a crowd was gathered round a man who 
stood on a chair haranguing them, with apparently 
considerable effect, for evev and anon his observa- 
tions were received with cries of “ Hear, hear,” and 
laughter! Going along the middle of the narrow 
street, in order to avoid the smells of the old- 
clothes’-shops and pawnbrokers, as well as the risk 
of contact with their wares, Frank and Willie 
elbowed their way through tne crowd to within a 
few yards of the speaker. 


100 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“What is he ?” inquired Frank of a rather dis- 
sipated elderly woman. 

“ He ’s a clown, or a hacrobat, or somethink of 
that sort, in one of the theatres or music-’ alls. He's 
bin burnt out of his ’ome last night, an ’s a-sellin’ 
off all he ’s been able to save by hauction.” 

“ Come, now, ladies an’ gents,” cried the clown, 
taking up a rather seedy-looking great- coat, which 
he held aloft with one hand, and pointed to it with 
the other, “ Who ’s agoin’ to bid for this ’ere gar- 
ment — a hextra superfine, double-drilled, kershimere 
great- coat, fresh from the looms o’ Tuskany — at 
least it was fresh from ’em ten years ago (that was 
when my grandfather was made Lord Mayor of 
London), an’ its bin renewing its youth (the coat, 
not the Lord Mayor) ever since. It ’s more glossy, 
I do assure you, ladies and gents, than w’en it fust 
corned from the looms, by reason of the pile havin’ 
worn off ; and you ’ll obsarve that the glossiness is 
most beautiful and brightest about the elbows an’ 
the seams o’ the back. Who bids for this ’ere 
venerable garment ? Six bob ? Come now, don’t all 
bid at once. Who said six bob ?” 

No reply being made to this except a laugh, the 
clown (who, by the way, wore a similarly glossy 
great-coat, with a hat to match) protested that his 
ears must have deceived him, or his imagination 
had been whispering hopeful things— which was 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


101 


not unlikely, for his imagination was a very power- 
ful one, — when he noticed Frank’s tall figure among 
the crowd. 

“ Come now, fireman, this is the wery harticle 
you wants. You corned out to buy it, I know, on 5 
ere it is, by a strange coincidence, ready-made to 
hand. What d’ ye bid ? Six bob ? Or say five. I 
know you ’ve got a wife an’ a large family o’ young 
firemen to keep, so I ’ll let it go cheap. P’raps it ’s 
too small for you ; but that ’s easy put right. 
You ’ve only got to slit it up behind to the neck, 
which is a’ infallible cure for a tight fit, an’ you can 
let down the cuffs, which is double, an’ if it ’s short 
you can cut off the collar, an’ sew it on to che skirts. 
It ’s water-proof too, and fire-proof, patent asbestos. 
W'en it ’s dirty, you ’ve got nothin’ to do but walk 
into the fire, an’ it ’ll come out noo. W’en it ’s 
thoroughly wet on the houtside, turn it inside hout, 
an’ there you are, to all appearance, as dry as bone. 
What ! you won’t have it at no price ? Well, now, 

I ’ll tempt you. I ’ll make it two bob.” 

“ Say one,” cried a baker, who had been listening 
to this, with a broad grin on his floury countenance. 

u Ladies and gents,” cried the clown, drawing 
himself up with dignity ; “ there s an individual in 
this crowd — I beg parden, this assemblage — as asks 
me to say ‘ one.’ I do say ‘ one,’ an’ I say it with 
jnelancholly feelin’s as to the liberality of my speciea 
10 


102 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


One bob ! A feller-man as has bin burnt hout of 'is 
'ome an’ needs ready money to keep ’im from 
starvation, offers his best great- coat — a hextra 
superfine, double- drilled (or milled, I forget w’ich) 
kershimere, from the looms o’ Tuskany — for one 
bob!” 

“ One-an’-six,” muttered an eld-clothesman, with 
a black cotton sack on his shoulder. 

“ One-an’-six,” echoed the clown with animation ; 
“ one-an’-six bid ; one-an’-six. Who said one-an’- 
seven 1 Was it the gent with the red nose ? — No, 
one-an’-six; goin’ at the ridiculously low figure of 
one-an’-six — gone ! as the old ’ooman said w’en her 
cat died o’ appleplexy. Here you are ; hand over 
the money. I can’t knock it down to you, ’cause 
I haven’t a hauctioneer’s ’ammer. Besides, it’s 
agin’ my principles. I ’ve never knocked nothin’ 
down, not even a skittle, since I joined the Peace 
Society. 

“ Now, ladies an’ gents, the next thing I ’ve got 
to hofifer is a harm chair. Hand up the harm-chair, 
Jim.” 

A very antique piece of furniture was handed up 
by a little boy, whom Willie recognised as the little 
boy who had once conversed with him in front of 
the chocolate -shop in Holborn Hill. 

“ Thank you, my son,” said the clown, taking the 
chair with one hand and patting the boy’s head with 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


103 


the other ; “ this, ladies and gents,” he added, in a 
parenthetical tone, “ is my son ; he *s bin burnt hout 
of ’ouse an ’ome too ! Now, then, who bids for the 
old harm -chair? — the wery identical harm -chair 
that the song was written about. In the embrace 
o' this ’ere chair has sat for generations past the 
family o’ the Cattleys — that ’s my name, ladies an 
gents, at your service. Here sat my great-great 
grandfather, who was used to say that his great- 
grandfather sat in it too. Here sat his son, and his 
son’s son — the Lord Mayor as was — and his son, 
my father, ladies and gents, who died in it besides, 
and whose son now hoffers it to the ’ighest bidder. 
You ’ll observe its antiquity, ladies an’ gents. That’s 
its beauty. It ’s what I may call, in the language of 
the haristocracy, a harticle of virtoo, w’ich means 
that it’s a harticle as is surrounded by virtuous 
memories in connexion with the defunct. Now, 
then, say five bob for the hold harm-chair !” 

While the clown was endeavouring to get the 
chair disposed of, Willie pushed his way to the side 
of Jim Cattley. 

“I say, youngster, would you like a cup o’ choco- 
late ? ” began Willie, by way of recalling to the boy * 
their former meeting. 

Jim, whose face wore a sad and dispirited look, 
turned angrily and said, “ Come, I don’t want none 
o’ your sauce ! ” 


104 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


" It ain’t sauce I ’m talkin’ of, it ’s chocolate,*’ 
retorted Willie. “ But come, Jim, I don’t want to 
bother ye. I’m sorry to see you an’ yer dad in 
sitch a fix. Have you lost much ? ” 

“ It’s not what we’ve lost that troubles us,” said 
Jim, softened by Willie’s sympathetic tone more 
than by his words ; “ but sister Ziza is took bad, 
an’ she *s a fairy at Drury Lane, an’ takin’ her down 
the fire-escape has well-nigh killed her, an’ we’ve 
got sitch a cold damp cellar of a place to put her in 
that I don’t think she ’ll get better at all ; anyhow, 
she ’ll lose her engagement, for she can’t make two 
speeches an’ go up in a silver cloud among blue fire 
with the ’flooenzer, an’ ’er ’air all but singed off ’er 
’ead.” 

Jim almost whimpered at this point, and Willie, 
quitting his side abruptly, went back to Frank (who 
was still standing an amused auditor of the clown), 
and demanded a shilling. 

“ What for, lad ? ” 

“ Never you mind, Blazes ; but give me the 
bob, an’ I’ll pay you back before the week’s 
out.” 

Frank gave him a shilling, with which he at once 
returned to Jim, and thrusting it into his hand, 
said — 

“ There, Jim, your dad ’s hard up just now. Go 
you an’ get physic with that for the fairy. Them 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


106 


’flooenzers is ticklish things to play with. Where 
<T ye stop ? ” 

“Well, yon are a queer ’un ; thank ’ee all the 
same/’ said Jim, pocketing the shilling. “We’ve 
got a sort o’ cellar just two doors east o’ the burnt 
’ouse. Why ? ” 

“’Cause I’ll come an’ see you, Jim. I’d like 
to see a live fairy in plain clo’se, with her wings 
off—” 

The rest of the sentence was cut short by the 
clown, who, having disposed of the old arm-chair to 
a chimney-sweep, ordered Jim to “ ’and up another 
harticle.” At the same moment Frank touched 
Willie on the shoulder, and said, “ Let ’s go, lad; 
I ’ll be late, I fear, for the gymnastics.” 

At the period of which we write the then Chief 
of the London Fire Brigade, Mr. Braidwood, had 
introduced a system of gymnastic training among 
the firemen, which he had found from experience to 
be a most useful exercise to fit the men for the 
arduous work they had to perform. Before going 
to London to take command of and reorganize the 
brigade which then went by the name of the London 
Fire-Engine Establishment, and was in a very un- 
satisfactory condition, Mr. Braidwood had, for a long 
period, been chief of the Edinburgh Fire Brigade, 
which he had brought to a state of great efficiency. 
Taking the requirements and conditions of the se*- 
10 * 


1 56 FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 

vice in Edinburgh into consideration, he had come 
to the conclusion that the best men for the work in 
that city were masons, house-carpenters, slaters, and 
suchlike ; but these men, when at their ordinary 
employments, being accustomed to bring only certain 
muscles into full play, were found to have a degree 
of stiffness in their general movements which pre- 
vented them from performing their duty as firemen 
with that ease and celerity which are so desirable. 
To obviate this evil he instituted the gymnastic 
exercises, which, by bringing all the muscles of the 
body into action, and by increasing the development 
of the frame generally, rendered the men lithe and 
supple, and in every way more fitted for the per- 
formance of duties in which their lives frequently 
depended on their promptitude and vigour. 

In addition to these advantages, it was found that 
those exercises gave the men confidence when placed 
in certain situations of danger. “ For example,” 
writes Mr. Braid wood* “ a fireman untrained in 
gymnastics, in the third or fourth floor of a burning 
house, with the branch in his hands, who is uncer 
tain as to his means of escape, in the event of his 
return by the stair being cut off, will be too much 
concerned about his own safety to render much 
service, and will certainly not be half so efficient as 

* See the interesting little book entitled Fire Prevention and Fire 
Extinction, by J ames Braidwood. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


107 


the experienced gymnast who, with a hatchet and 
eighty feet of rope at his waist, and a window near 
him, feels himself in comparative security, knowing 
that he has the means and the power of lowering 
himself easily and safely into the street,” — a know- 
ledge which not only gives him confidence, but 
enables him to give his undistracted attention to 
the exigencies of the fire. 

It was to attend this gymnastic class that Frank 
now turned aside, and proposed to bid Willie good- 
bye ; but Willie begged to be taken into the room. 
Frank complied, and the boy soon found himself in 
an apartment fitted up with all the appliances cf a 
gymnasium, where a number of powerful young men 
were leaping, vaulting, climbing, and in other ways 
improving their physical powers. Frank joined 
them, and for a long time Willie stood in rapt and 
envious contemplation of the busy scene. 

At first he could not avoid feeling that there 
seemed a good deal more of play than business 
in their doings ; but his admiration of the scene 
deepened when he remembered the bold acts of the 
firemen at Beverly Square, and recognised some of 
the faces of the men who had been on duty there, 
and reflected that these very men, who seemed thus to 
be playing themselves , would on that very night, in 
all probability, be called upon to exert these powers 
sternly and seriously, yet coolly, in the midst of 


108 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


scenes of terror and confusion, and in the face of 
imminent personal danger. 

Brooding over these things, Willie, having at 
length torn himself away, hastened on- his pilgrim- 
age to London Bridge 


CHAPTER X. 


IN WHICH DIFFICULTIES AND DISSIPATIONS ARE TREATED OF. 

In a very small office, situate in a very large 
warehouse, in that great storehouse of the world’s 
wealth, Tooley Street, sat a clerk named Edward 
Hooper. 

Among his familiar friends Edward was better 
known by the name of Ned. 

He was seated on the top of a tall three-legged 
stool, which, to judge from the uneasy and restless 
motions of its occupant, must have been a peculiarly 
uncomfortable seat indeed. 

There was a clock on the wall just opposite to 
Ned’s desk, which that young gentleman was in the 
habit of consulting frequently — -very frequently — 
and comparing with his watch, as if he doubted its 
veracity. This was very unreasonable, for he 
always found that the two timepieces told the 
truth ; at least, that they agreed with each other. 
Nevertheless, in his own private heart, Ned Hooper 
thought that clock — and sometimes called it— 


10 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ the slowest piece of ancient furniture he had ever 
seen.” 

During one of Ned’s comparisons of the two time- 
pieces the door opened, and Mr. Auberly entered, 
with a dark cloud, figuratively speaking, on his 
brow. 

At the same moment the door of an inner office 
opened, and Mr. Auberly’s head clerk, who had 
seen his employer’s approach through the dusty 
window, issued forth and bowed respectfully, with 
a touch of condolence in his air, as he referred with 
much regret to the fire at Beverly Square, and 
hoped that Miss Auberly was not much the worse 
of her late alarm. 

“ Well, she is not the better for it,” said Mr. 
Auberly ; “ but I hope she will be quite well soon. 
Indeed, the doctor assures me of this, if care is taken 
of her. I wish that was the only thing on my 
mind just now ; but I’m perplexed about another 
matter, Mr. Quill. Are you alone ?” 

“ Quite alone, sir,” said Quill, throwing open the 
door of the inner office. 

“ I want to consult with you about Frederick,” 
said Mr. Auberly as he entered. 

The door shut out the remainder of the consulta- 
tion at this point, so Edward Hooper consulted the 
clock again and sighed. 

If sighs could have delivered Hooper from his 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


Ill 


sorrows, there is no doubt that the accumulated 
millions of which he was delivered in that office, 
during the last five years, would have filled him with 
a species of semi-celestial bliss. 

At last, the hands of the clock reached the hour, 
the hour that was wont to evoke Ned’s last sigh and 
set him free ; but it was an aggravating clock. 
Nothing would persuade it to hurry. It would not, 
for all the untold wealth contained in the great 
stores of Tooley Street, have abated the very last 
second of the last minute of the hour. On the 
contrary, it went through that second quite as slowly 
as all the others. Ned fancied it went much 
slower at that one on purpose ; and then, with a 
sneaking parade of its intention to begin to strike, 
it gave a prolonged hiss, and did its duty, and 
nothing but its duty ; by striking the hour at a pace 
so slow, that it recalled forcibly to Ned Hooper’s 
imaginative mind “ the minute-gun at sea.” 

There was a preliminary warning given by that 
clock some time before the premonitory hiss. Be- 
tween this harbinger of coming events, and the joy- 
ful sound which was felt to be “ an age,” Ned was 
wont to wipe his pen and arrange his papers. When 
the hiss began, he invariably closed his warehouse- 
book and laid it in the desk, and had the desk 
locked before the first stroke of the hour. While the 
“ minute-gun at sea” was going on, he changed his 


112 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


office coat for a surtout, not perfectly new, and a 
white hat with a black band, the rim of which was 
not perfectly straight. So exact and methodical 
was Ned in these operations, that his hand usually 
fell on the door-latch as the last gun was fired by 
the aggravating clock. On occasions of unusual 
celerity he even managed to drown the last shot in 
the bang of the door, and went off with a sensation 
of triumph. 

On the present occasion, however, Ned Hooper 
deemed it politic to be so busy, that he could not 
attend to the warnings of the timepiece. He even 
sat on his stool a full quarter of an hour beyond the 
time of departure. At length Mr. Auberly issued 
forth. 

“ Mr. Quill,” said he, “ my mind is made up, so it 
is useless to urge such considerations on me. Good- 
night.” 

Mr. Quill, whose countenance was sad, looked as 
though he would willingly have urged the considera- 
tions referred to over again, and backed them up 
with a few more ; but Mr. Auberly's tone was 
peremptory, so he only opened the door, and bowed 
the great man out. 

“You can go, Hooper,” said Mr. Quill, retiring 
slowly to the inner office, “I will lock up. Send 
the porter here.” 

This was a quite unnecessary permission. Mr. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


113 


Quill, being a good-natured, easy-going man, never 
found fault with Ned Hooper, and Ned being a 
presumptuous young fellow, though good-humoured 
enough, never waited for Mr. Quill’s permission to 
go. He was already in the act of putting on the 
white hat ; and, two seconds afterwards, was in the 
street wending his way homeward. 

There was a tavern named the “Angel” at the 
corner of one of the streets off Tooley Street, which 
Edward Hooper had to pass every evening on his 
way home. Ned, we grieve to say, was fond of his 
beer ; he always found it difficult to pass a tavern. 
Yet, curiously enough, he never found any difficulty 
in passing this tavern ; probably because he always 
went in and slaked his thirst before passing it. 

“ Good- evening, Mr. Hooper,” said the landlord, 
who was busy behind his counter serving a motley 
and disreputable crew. 

Hooper nodded in reply, and said good- evening 
to Mrs. Butler, who attended to the customers at 
another part of the counter. 

“Good-evenin’, sir. W’at’ll you ’ave to-night, 

sir r 

‘ Pot c' the same, Mrs. B.,” replied Ned. 

This was the invariable question and reply, for 
Ned was a man of regularity and method in every- 
thing that affected his personal comforts. Had he 
brought one-tenth of this regularity and method to 
h H 


114 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


bear on his business conduct, he would have been a 
better and a happier man. 

The foaming pot was handed, and Ned conversed 
with Mrs. Butler while he enjoyed it, and com- 
menced his evening, which usually ended in semi- 
intoxication. 

Meanwhile Edward Hooper’s “ chum” and fellow- 
lodger sat in their mutual chamber awaiting him. 

John Barret did not drink, but he smoked ; and, 
while waiting for his companion, he solaced himself 
with a pipe. He was a fine manly fellow, very dif- 
ferent from Ned ; who, although strong of limb and 
manly enough, was slovenly in gait and dress, and 
bore unmistakable marks of dissipation about him. 

“Very odd; he’s later than usual,” muttered 
Barret, as he glanced out at the window, and then 
at the tea-table, which, with the tea-service, and, 
indeed everything in the room, proved that the 
young men were by no means wealthy. 

“ He ’ll be taking an extra pot at the ‘ Angel,* ” 
muttered John Barret, proceeding to re-light his 
pipe, while he shook his head gravely ; “ but he ’ll 
be here soon.” 

A foot on the stair caused Barret to believe that 
he was a true prophet ; but the rapidity and firm- 
ness of the step quickly disabused him of that idea. 

The door was flung open with a crash, and a 
hearty youth with glowing eyes strode in. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


115 


“ Fred Auberly !” exclaimed Barret in surprise. 

"Won’t you welcome me ?” demanded Fred. 

" Welcome you ? Of course I will, most heartily, 
old boy ! ” cried Barret, seizing his friend’s hand 
and wringing it ; “ but if you burst in on a fellow 
unexpectedly in this fashion, and with such wild 
looks, why — ” 

" Well, well, don’t explain, man ; I hate explana- 
tions. I have come here for sympathy,” said Fred 
Auberly, shutting the door and sitting down by 
the fire. 

" Sympathy, Fred ?” 

" Ay, sympathy. When a man is in distress he 
naturally craves for sympathy, and he turns, also 
naturally, to those who can and will give it — not to 
everybody, John Barret — only to those who can feel 
with him as well as for him. I am in distress, John, 
and ever since you and I fought our first and last 
battle at Eton, I have found you a true sympathizer. 
So now, is your heart ready to receive the flood of 
my sorrows ? ” 

Young Auberly said the latter part of this in a 
half-jesting tone, but he was evidently in earnest, 
so his friend replied by squeezing his hand warmly, 
and saying, “ Let ’s hear about it, Fred,” while he 
relighted his pipe. 

“You have but a poor lodging here, John,” said 
Auberly, looking round the room. 


116 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Barret turned on his friend a quick look of sur- 
prise, and then said with a smile — 

“Well, I admit that it is not quite equal to a 
certain mansion in Beverly Square that I wot of, 
but it ’s good enough for a poor clerk in an insurance 
office.” 

“ You are right,” continued Auberly ; “ it is not 
equal to that mansion, whose upper floors are at this 
moment a chevaux-de-frise of charcoal beams and 
rafters depicted on a dark sky, and whose lower 
floors are a fantastic compound of burned bricks and 
lime, broken boards, and blackened furniture.” 

“You don’t mean to say there’s been a fire?” 
exclaimed Barret. 

“ And you don’t mean to tell me, do you, that a 
clerk in a fire insurance office does not know it ? ” 

“ I have been ill for two days,” returned Barret, 
“ and have not seen the papers ; but I ’m very sorry 
to hear of it ; indeed I am. The house is insured, 
of course ? ” 

“ I believe it is,” replied Fred carelessly ; “ but 
that is not what troubles me.” 

“ N o ? ” exclaimed his friend. 

“ No,” replied the other. “ If the house had not 
been insured my father has wealth enough in these 
abominably unpicturesque stores in Tooley Street to 
rebuild the whole of Beverly Square if it were burnt 
down. The fire costs me not a thought, although/ 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


117 


by the way, it nearly cost me my life, in a vain 
attempt I made to rescue my poor dear sister Loo — ” 

“ Vain attempt ! ” exclaimed Barret, with a look 
of concern. 

“ Ay, vain, as far as I was concerned ; but a noble 
fireman — a fellow that would make a splendid model 
for Hercules in the Life Academy — sprang to the ! 
rescue after me and saved her. God bless him ! 
Dear Loo has got a severe shake, hut the doctors 
say that we have only to take good care of her, and 
she will do well. But to return to my woes. Listen, 
John, and you shall hear.” 

Fred Auberly paused, as though meditating how 
he should commence. 

“You know,” said he, “that I am my father’s 
only son, and Loo his only daughter.” 

“Yes.” 

“ Well, my father has disinherited me and left the 
whole of his fortune to Loo. As far as dear Loo is 
concerned I am glad ; for myself I am sad, for it is 
awkward, to say the least of it, to have been brought 
up with unlimited command of pocket-money and 
expectations of considerable wealth, and suddenly 
to find myself all but penniless, without a profession 
and without expectations, at the age of twenty- 
two.” 

He paused and looked at his friend, who sat mute 
with amazement. 


11 * 


118 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ Failing Loo/’ continued Fred calmly, “ my 
father’s fortune goes to some distant relative.” 

“ But why ? wherefore ? ” exclaimed Barret. 

“ You shall hear,” continued Auberly. “ You are 
aware that ever since I was able to burn the end of 
a stick and draw faces on the nursery- door, I have 
had a wild insatiable passion for drawing ; and ever 
since the memorable day on which I was whipped 
by my father, and kissed, tearfully, by my beloved 
mother, for caricaturing our cook on the dining- 
room window with a diamond ring, I have had an 
earnest, unextinguishable desire to become a — a 
painter, an artist, a dauber, a dirtier of canvas. 
D’ ye understand ? ” 

H Perfectly,” said Barret. 

“ Well, my father has long been resolved, it seems, 
to make me a man of business, for which I have no 
turn whatever. You are aware that for many years 
I have dutifully slaved and toiled at these heavy 
books in our office — which have proved so heavy 
that they have nearly squeezed the soul out of me — 
and instead of coming to like them better (as I was 
led to believe I should), I have only come to hate 
them more. During all this time, too, I have been 
studying painting late and early, and although I 
have not gone through the regular academical course, 
I have studied much in the best of all schools, that 
of Nature. I have urged upon my father repeatedly 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


119 


and respectfully, that it is possible for me to uphold 
the credit of the family as a painter ; that, as the 
business can be carried on by subordinates, there is 
no necessity for me to be at the head of it ; and 
that, as he has made an ample fortune already, the 
half of which he had told me was to be mine, I 
would be quite satisfied with my share, and did not 
want any more. But my father would never listen 
to my arguments. The last time we got on the 
, subject he called me a mean-spirited fellow, and 
said he was sorry I had ever been born ; whereupon 
I expressed regret that he had not been blessed with 
a more congenial and satisfactory son, and tried to 
point out that it was impossible to change my 
nature. Then I urged all the old arguments over 
again, and wound up by saying that even if I were 
to become possessor of the whole of his business 
to-morrow, I would sell it off, take to painting as a 
profession, and become the patron of aspiring young 
painters from that date forward ! 

“ To my surprise and consternation, this last re- 
mark put him in such a towering rage, that he vowed 
he would disinherit me, if I did not then and there 
throw my palette and brushes into the fire. Of 
course, I declined to do such an act, whereupon he 
dismissed me from his presence for ever. This 
occurred on the morning of the day of the fire. I 
thought he might perhaps relent after such on 


120 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


evidence of the mutability of human affairs. I even 
ventured to remind him that Tooley Street was not 
made of asbestos, and that an occasional fire occurred 
there ! But this made him worse than ever ; so I 
went the length of saying that I would, at all events, 
in deference to his wishes, continue to go to the office 
at least for some time to come. But, alas ! I had 
roused him to such a pitch that he refused to hear 
of it, unless I should ‘ throw my palette and brushes 
into the fire ! y Flesh and blood, you know, could 
not do that, so I left him, and walked off twenty 
miles into the country to relieve my feelings. There 
I fell in with such a splendid “ bit a sluice, with a 
stump of a tree, and a winding bit of water with 
overhanging willows, and a peep of country beyond ! 
I sat down and sketched, and forgot my woes, and 
rejoiced in the fresh air and delightful sounds of birds, 
and cows, and sheep, and hated to think of Tooley 
Street. Then I slept in a country inn, walked 
back to London next day, and, voild ! here I am !” 

“ Don’t you think, Fred, that time will soften 
your father ?” 

“ No, I don’t think it. On the contrary, I kno\* 
it won’t He is a good man ; but he has an iron 
will, which I never saw subdued. 

“ Then, my dear Fred, I advise you to consider 
the propriety of throwing your palette and brushes 
into — ” 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


121 


“ My dear John, I did not come here for your 
advice. I came for your sympathy.” 

“ And you have it, Fred,” cried Barret earnestly. 
"But have you really such an unconquerable love 
for painting ?” 

“Have I really !” echoed Fred. “ Do you think I 
would have come to such a pass as this for a trifle ? 
Why man, you have 110 idea how my soul longs 
for the life of a painter, for the free fresh air of the 
country, for the poetry of the woods, the water, and 
the sky, for the music of bird and beast and run- 
ning brook. You know the true proverb, ‘ Man 
made the town ; but God made the country !* ” 

“What,” asked Barret, “would become of the 
town, if all men thought as you do ?” 

“ Oh ! John Barret, has town life so marred your 
once fine intellect, that you put such a question in 
earnest ? Suppose I answer it by another : What 
would become of the country if all men thought and 
acted as you do ?” 

Barret smiled and smoked. 

“ And what,” continued Auberly, “ would become 
of the fine arts if all men delighted in dirt, dust, 
dulness, and desks? Depend upon it, John, that 
our tastes and tendencies are not the result of 
accident ; they were given to us for a purpose. 1 
hold it as an axiom that when a man or a boy has 
a strong and decided bias or partiality for any par 


122 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


ticular work that he knows something about, he has 
really a certain amount of capacity for that work 
beyond the average of men, and is led thereto by a 
higher power than that of man. Do not misunder- 
stand me. I do not say that, when a boy expresses a 
longing desire to enter the navy or the army, he has 
necessarily an aptitude for these professions. Far 
from it. He has only a romantic notion of some- 
thing about which, experimentally, he knows 
nothing ; but, when man or boy has put his hand 
to any style of work, and thereafter loves it and 
longs after it, I hold that that is the work for 
which he was destined, and for which he is best 
suited.” 

“ Perhaps you are right,” said Barret, smoking 
harder than ever. “ At all events, I heartily sym- 
pathize with you, and — ” 

At this point the conversation was interrupted by 
a loud burst of whistling, as the street-door opened 
and the strains of “ Buie Britannia” filled the entire 
building. The music was interrupted by the sudden 
opening of another door, and a rough growl from a 
male voice. 

“ Don’t get waxy, old feller,” said the performer 
in a youthful voice, “ I ain’t a-goin’ to charge you 
nothink for it. I always do my music gratis; 
havin’ a bee -nevolient turn o’ mind.” 

The door was slammed violently, and “ Rule 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


123 


Britannia” immediately burst forth with renewed 
and pointed emphasis. 

Presently it ceased, and a knock came to Barret’s 
door. 

“ Well, what d’ ye want, you noisy scamp ?” said 
Barret, flinging the door open, and revealing the 
small figure of Willie Willders. 

“ Please, sir,” said Willie, consulting the back of a 
note ; “ are you Mister T — Tom — Tupper, Esquire?” 

“ No, I 'm not.” 

“ Ain’t there sitch a name in the house ?” 

“ No, not that I know of.” 

Willie’s face looked blank. 

“Well, I was told he lived here,” he muttered, 
again consulting the note. 

“ Here, let me look,” said Barret, taking the note 
from the boy. “This is Tippet, not Tupper. He 
lives in the top floor. — By the way, Auberly,” said 
Barret, glancing over his shoulder, “ Isn’t Tom 
Tippet a sort of connexion of yours ?” 

“Yes; a distant one,” said Fred carelessly, “ too 
distant to make it worth while our becoming 
acquainted. He ’s rich and eccentric, I ’m told. 
Assuredly he must be the latter if he lives in such 
a hole as this. — What are you staring at, boy ?” 

This question was put to Willie. 

“ Please, sir, are you the Mr. Auberly who was 
a’most skumfished with smoke at the Beverly 


124 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Square fire t’other day, in tryin’ to git hold o' yei 
sister ?” 

Fred could not but smile as he admitted the fact. 

“ Please sir, I hope yer sister ain’t the wuss of it, 
sir/’ 

“ Not much, I hope ; thank you for inquiring ; 
but how come you to know about the fire, and to be 
interested in my sister ?” 

“ ’Cause I was there, sir ; an’ it was my brother, 
sir, Frank Willders, as saved your sister.” 

"Was it indeed!” exclaimed Fred, becoming 
suddenly interested. “ Come, let me hear more 
about your brother.” 

Willie, nothing loath, related every fact he waa 
acquainted with in regard to Frank’s career, and his 
own family history, in the course of which he re- 
vealed the object of his visit to Mr. Tippet. When 
he had. finished, Frederick Auberly shook hands 
with him and said — 

“ Now, Willie, go and deliver your note. If the 
application is successful, well ; but if it fails, or you 
don’t like your work, just call upon me, and 1 11 see 
what can be done for you.” 

“ Yes, sir, and thankee,” said Willie ; “ where did 
you say I was to call, sir ?” 

“ Call at — eh — ah — yes, my boy, call here, and 
let my friend Mr. Barret know you want to see me. 
He will let me know, and you shall hear from me. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


125 


Just at present — well, never mind, go and deliver 
your note now. Your brother is a noble fellow. 
Good-night. — And you ’re a fine little fellow your- 
self,” he added, after Willie closed the door. 

The fine little fellow gave vent to such a gush of 
“ Rule Britannia” at the moment, that the two friends 
turned with a smile to each other. 

Just then a man’s voice was heard at the foot of 
the stair, grumbling angrily. At the same moment 
young Auberly rose to leave. 

“ Good- night, Barret. I ’ll write to you soon as 
to my whereabout and whatabout. Perhaps see 
you ere long.” 

“ Good-night. God prosper you, Fred. Good- 
night.” 

As he spoke, the grumbler came stumbling along 
the passage. 

“ Good-night again, Fred,” said Barret, almost 
pushing his friend out. “ I have a particular reason 
for not wishing you to see the fr — , the man who is 
coming in.” 

“All right, old fellow,” said Fred, as he passed 
out, and drew up against the wall to allow a drunken 
man to stumble heavily into the room. 

Next moment he was in the street hastening he 
Knew not whither ; but following the old and well- 
known route to Beverly Square. 

12 




CHAPTER XI. 

fBLLS OP A STRANGE CHARACTER, AND OF WONDERFUL PLANS THAT 
CANNOT BE BRIEFLY DESCRIBED. 

When Willie Willders knocked at Tom Tippet's 
door, at the top of the house, a rich jovial bass voice 
cried, “ Come in.” So Willie went in, and stood 
before a stout old gentleman, whose voluminous 
whiskers, meeting below his chin, made ample 
amends for the total absence of hair from the top of 
his head. 

Mr. Tippet stood, without coat or vest, and with 
his braces tied round his waist, at a carpenter’s 
bench, holding a saw in his right hand, and a piece 
of wood in his left. 

"Well, my lad, what’s your business?” he in- 
quired, in the voice of a stentor, and with the beam- 
ing smile of an elderly cherub. 

“ Please, sir, a note — from a lady.” 

“ I wish your message had been verbal, boy. It's 
so difficult to read ladies’ hands ; they ’re so 

abominably angular, and — where are my specs? 

126 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


127 


I ’ve a mind to have 'em screw-nailed to my nose, — 
Ah ! here they are.” 

He found them under a jack-plane and a mass 
of shavings ; put them on and read the note, while 
Willie took the opportunity of observing that Mr 
Tippet’s room was a drawing-room, parlour, dining 
room, workshop, and old curiosity-shop all in one 
A half- open door revealed the fact that an inner 
chamber contained Mr. Tippet’s bed, and an inde- 
scribable mass of machinery and models in every 
stage of progression, and covered with dust, more or 
less thick in exact proportion to their respective 
ages. A dog and cat lay side by side on the hearth 
asleep, and a small fire burned in a grate, on the 
sides of which stood a variety of crucibles and such- 
like articles, and a glue-pot; also a teapot and 
kettle. 

“ You want a situation in my office as a clerk ?” 
inquired Mr. Tippet, tearing up his sister’s letter, 
and throwing it into the fire. 

“ If you please, sir,” said Willie. 

“ Ha ! are you good at writing and ciphering ?” 

“ Middlin’, sir.” 

" Hum ! D’ you know where my office is, and 
what it is ?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“What would you say now,” asked Mr. Tippet, 
seating himself on his bench, or rather on the top 


128 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


of a number of gimblets and chisels and files and 
pincers that lay on it, — “ what would you say now 
to sitting from morning till night in a dusty ware- 
room, where the light is so feeble that it can scarcely 
penetrate the dirt that incrusts the windows, writing 
in books that are so greasy that the ink can hardly 
be got to mark the paper? How would you like 
that, William Willders — eh ? ” 

“ I don’t know, sir,” replied Willie, with a some- 
what depressed look. 

“ Of course you don’t, yet that is the sort of place 
you ’d have to work in, boy, if I engaged you, for 
that is a correct description of my warehouse. I ’m 
a sleeping partner in the firm. D’ye know what 
that is, boy ? ” 

“ Ho, sir.” 

‘‘Well, it’s a partner that does no work; but I’m 
wide-awake for all that, and have a pretty good 
notion of what is going on there. Now, lad, if I 
were to take you in, what would you say to £5 a 
year ? ” 

“ It don’t sound much, sir,” said Willie bluntly ; 
* but if you take me in with the understandin’ that 
I ’m to work my way up’ards, I don’t mind about 
the pay at first.” 

“ Good,” said Mr. Tippet, with a nod of approval 
“What d’ye think of my workshop?” he adde(* 
looking round with a cherubic smile. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


129 


“It's a funny place,” responded Willie with a 
grin. 

“ A funny place — eh ? Well, I daresay it is, lad, 
in your eyes ; but let me tell you, it is a place of 
deep interest, and, I may add without vanity, im- 
portance. There are inventions here, all in a state 
bordering more or less upon completion, which will, 
when brought into operation, modify the state of 
society very materially in many of its most pro- 
minent phases. Here, for instance, is a self-acting 
galvano-hydraulic engine, which will entirely super- 
sede the use of steam, and, by preventing the ruinous 
consumption of coal now going on, will avert, or at 
least postpone, the decline of the British Empire. 
Able men have calculated that in the course of a 
couple of hundred years or so our coal-beds will be 
exhausted. I have gone over their calculations and 
detected several flaws in them, which, when cor- 
rected, show a very different result, namely, that in 
seventeen or eighteen years from this time — pro- 
bably about the year 1868 — there will not be an 
ounce of coal in the kingdom ! ” 

Mr. Tippet paused to observe the effect of this 
statement. Willie having never heard of such things 
before, and having a thoughtful and speculative as 
well as waggish turn of mind, listened with open 
eyes and mouth and earnest attention, so Mr. Tippet 

went on — 

i 


12 * 


130 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


"The frightful consequences of such a state of 
things you may conceive, or rather they are utterly 
inconceivable. Owing to the foundations of the 
earth having been cut away, it is more than pro- 
bable that the present coal districts of the United 
Kingdom will collapse, the ocean will rush in, and 
several of our largest counties will become salt-water 
lakes. Besides this, coal being the grand source of 
our national wealth, its sudden failure will entail 
national bankruptcy. The barbarians of Europe, 
taking advantage of our condition, will pour down 
upon us, and the last spark of true civilisation 
in our miserable world will be extinguished — the 
last refuge for the hunted foot of persecuted Free- 
dom will be finally swept from the face of the 
earth ! ” 

Here Mr. Tippet brought the saw down on the 
bench with such violence, that the dog and cat 
started incontinently to their legs, and Willie him- 
self was somewhat shaken. 

“ Now,” continued Mr. Tippet, utterly regardless 
of the sensation he had created, and wiping the per- 
spiration from his shining head with a handful of 
shavings, — “ now, William Willders, all this may be, 
shall be, prevented by the adoption of the galvano- 
hydraulic engine, and the consequent restriction 
of the application of coal to the legitimate purposes 
of warming our dwellings and cooking our victuals. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


131 


I mean to bring this matter before the Home Secre- 
tary whenever I have completed my invention, 
which, however, is not quite perfected/’ 

“Then, again,” continued Mr Tippet, becoming 
more and more enthusiastic as he observed the deep 
impression his explanations were making on Willie, 
who stood glaring at him in speechless amazement, 
“ here you have my improved sausage-machine for 
converting all animal substances into excellent 
sausages. I hold that every animal substance is 
more or less good for food, and that it is a sad 
waste to throw away bones and hair, etc. etc., merely 
because these substances are unpalatable or diffi- 
cult to chew. How, my machine gets over this 
difficulty. You cut an animal up just as it is killed, 
and put it into the machine — hair, skin, bones, 
blood, and all — and set it in motion by turning on 
the galvano-hydraulic fluid. Delicious sausages are 
the result in about twenty minutes ! 

“ You see my dog there — Chips I call him, be- 
cause he dwells in the midst of chips and shavings ; 
he sleeps upon chips, and if he does not exactly eat 
chips, he lives upon scraps which have a strong 
resemblance to them. The cat has no name. I 
am partial to the time-honoured name of 'Puss/ 
Besides, a cat is not worthy of a name. Physically 
speaking, it is only a bundle of living fur — a mere 
mass of soft animated nature, as Goldsmith would 


132 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


express it. Intellectually it is nothing — a sort of 
existent nonentity, a moral void on which a name 
would be utterly thrown away. Well, I could take 
these two animals, Chips and Puss, put them in 
here (alive too, for there is a killing apparatus in 
the instrument which will effectually do away with 
the cruel process of slaughtering and with its accom- 
panying nuisances of slaughter-houses and butchers) 
—put them in here, I 'say, and in twenty minutes 
they would be ground up into sausages ! 

“ I know that enemies to progress, ignorant per- 
sons and the like, will scoff at this, and say it is 
similar to the American machine, into one end of 
which you put a tree, and it comes out at the other 
end in the shape of ready-made furniture. But 
such scoffs will cease, while my invention will live. 
I am not bigoted, William. There may be good 
objections to my inventions, and great difficulties 
connected with them, but the objections I will 
answer, and the difficulties I will overcome. 

“ This instrument,” continued Mr. Tippet, pointing 
to a huge beam, which leant against the end, of the 
small apartment, “is only a speculative effort of 
mine. It is meant to raise enormous weights, such 
as houses. I have long felt it to be most desirable 
that people should be able to raise their houses from 
their foundations by the strength of a few men, and 
convey them to other localities, either temporarily 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


133 


or permanently. I have not succeeded yet, but I 
see my way to success; and after all, the idea is 
not new. You can see it partially carried out by 
an enterprising company in this city, whose enor- 
mous vans will remove the whole furniture of a 
drawing-room, almost as it stands, without packing. 
My chief difficulty is with the fulcrum ; but that is 
a difficulty that met the philosopher of old. You 
have heard of Archimedes, William, ---the man who 
said he could make a lever big enough to move the 
world, if he could only get a fulcrum to rest it on ? 
But Archimedes was weak on that point. He ought 
to have known that, even if he did get such a ful- 
crum, he would still have required another world as 
long as his lever, to enable him to walk out to the 
end of it. No, by the way, he might have walked 
on the lever itself ! That did not occur to me 
before. He might even have ridden along it. Come, 
that ’s a new idea. Let me see.” 

In order the better to “ see,” Mr. Tippet dropt the 
piece of wood from his left hand, and pressed his 
fingers into both eyes, so as to shut out all earthly 
objects, and enable him to take an undistracted 
survey of the chambers of his mind. Returning 
suddenly from the investigation, he exclaimed — 

“ Yes, William, I don’t quite see my way to it , 
but I can perceive dimly the possibility of Archi- 
medes having so formed his lever, that a line of rails 


134 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


might have been run along the upper side of it, 
from the fulcrum to the other end/’ 

“Yes, sir,” exclaimed Willie, who, having become 
excited, was entering eagerly into his patron's 
speculations, and venting an occasional remark in 
the height of his enthusiasm. 

“ Such a thing might be done,” continued Mr. 
Tippet emphatically; “ a small carriage — on the 
galvano- hydraulic principle, of course — might run 
to and fro — ” 

“ With passengers,” suggested Willie. 

“Well, — with passengers,” assented Mr. Tippet, 
smiling. “ Of course, the lever would be very 
large — extremely large. Yes, there might be pas- 
sengers.” 

“ An’ stations along the line?” said Willie. 

Mr. Tippet knitted his brows. 

“ Y — yes — why not ?” he said slowly. “ Of course, 
the lever would be very long, extremely long, and it 
might be necessary to stop the carriages on the way 
out. There might be breadth sufficient on the 
lever to plant small side stations.” 

. “ An’ twenty minutes allowed for refreshments, 1 * 
suggested Willie. 

“ Why, as to that,” said Mr. Tippet, “ if we stop 
at all, there could be no reasonable objection to 
refreshments, although it is probable we might find 
it difficult to get any one sufficiently enterprising to 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


135 


undertake the supply of such a line ; for, you know, 
if the lever were to slip at the fulcrum and fall — ” 

“ Oh !” exclaimed Willie, “ wouldn’t there be a 
smash, neither !” 

“ The danger of people failing off, too,” continued 
Mr Tippet, “might be prevented by railings run 
along the extreme edges of the lever.” 

“Yes,” interrupted Willie, whose vivid imagina- 
tion, unused to such excitement, had taken the bit 
in its teeth and run away with him ; “ an’ spikes 
put on ’em to keep the little boys from swingin’ on 
’em, an’ gettin’ into mischief. Oh ! what jolly fun 
it would be. Only think : we ’d advertise cheap 
excursion trains along the Arkimeedis Line, Mon- 
days an’ Toosdays. Fares, two hundred pounds, 
fust class. No seconds or parleys allowed for love 
or money. Starts from the Fuddlecrum Sta — ” 

“ Fulcrum,” said Mr. Tippet, correcting. 

“ Fulcrum Station,” resumed Willie, “at 2.30 A.M. 
of the mornin’ precisely. Stops at the Quarter, 
Halfway, an’ Three-quarter Stations, allowin’ twenty 
minutes, more or less, for grub — weather permittin’.” 

“ Your observations are quaint,” said Mr. Tippet, 
with a smile ; “ but there is a great deal of truth in 
them. No doubt, the connexion of such ideas, 
especially as put by you, sounds a little ludicrous ; 
but when we come to analyse them, we see theii 
possibility, for, if a lever of the size indicated by 


136 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


the ancient philosopher were erected (and theoreti 
caily, ; the, thing ts possible), then the subordinate 
arrangements as to a line of railway and stations, 
etc., would be mere matters of detail. It might be 
advertised, too, that the balance of the lever would 
be so regulated, that, on the arrival of the train at 
the terminus, the world would rise (a fact which 
might be seen by the excursionists, by the aid of 
enormous telescopes, much better than by the 
people at home), and that, on the return of the train, 
the world would again sink to its ancient level. 

“ There would be considerable risk, no doubt, 
continued Mr. Tippet meditatively, “ of foolish 
young men and boys getting over the rails in sport 
or bravado, and falling off into the depths of illimit- 
able profundity, but—” 

“ We could have bobbies stationed along the line/' 
interrupted Willie, “ an’ tickets put up warnin’ the 
passengers not to give ’em money s on no account 
wotsomedever, on pain o’ bein’ charged double fare 
for the first offence, an’ pitched over the rails into 
illimidibble pro-what ’s-’is-name for the second.” 

“I’ll tell you what it is, William,” said Mr. 
Tippet suddenly, getting off the bench and seizing 
the boy’s hand, “ your talents would be wasted in 
my office. You ’ll come and assist me here in the 
workshop. I ’m greatly in want of an intelligent 
lad who can use his hands; but, by the way, ca^ 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


137 


you use your hands ? Here, cut this piece of wood 
smooth, with that knife.” 

He handed Willie a piece of cross-grained wood 
and a blunt knife. 

Willie looked at both, smiled, and shook his head. 

“ It would take a cleverer feller than me to do it ; 
but I ’ll try.” 

Willie did try ; after a quarter of an hour spent 
in vain attempts, he threw down the wood and knife, 
exclaiming, “ It ’s impossible.” 

Mr. Tippet, who had been smiling cherubically, 
and nodding approval, said — 

“ I knew it was impossible, my lad, when I gave 
it to you, and T now know that you are both neat- 
handed and persevering; so, if you choose, I’ll 
engage you on the spot to come on trial for a week. 
After that we will settle the remuneration. Mean- 
while, shake hands again, and allow me to express 
to you my appreciation of the noble character of 
your brother, who, I understand, from my sister’s 
letter, saved a young relative of mine from the 
midst of imminent danger. Good-night, William, 
and come to me on Monday next, at nine o’clock in 
the morning.” 

Willie was somewhat perplexed at this prompt 
dismissal (for Mr. Tippet had opened the door), 
especially after such a long and free-and-easy con- 
versation, and he felt that, however much license 
13 


138 


FIGHTJNC THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Mr. Tippet might permit, he was a man of stem 
will, who could not be resisted with impunity ; so, 
although he was burning to know the object and 
nature of innumerable strange pieces of mechanism 
in the workshop, he felt constrained to make a 
polite bow and depart. 

On his way down-stairs, he heard the voices of 
men as if in angry disputation ; and on reaching 
the next floor, found Mr. Barret standing at the 
open door of his room, endeavouring to hold Ned 
Hooper, who was struggling violently. 

“ I tell you,” said the latter, in a drunken voice, 
“ that I w — will go out !” 

“ Come, Ned, not to-night ; you can go to- 
morrow,” said Barret soothingly, yet maintaining 
his hold of his friend. 

“ W — why not ? ain’t night the best time to — to — 
be jolly ? — eh ! L’ me go, I shay.” 

He made a fierce struggle at this point ; and 
Barret, ceasing to expostulate, seized him with a 
grasp that he could not resist, and dragged him 
forcibly, yet without unnecessary violence, into the 
room. 

Next instant, the door was shut with a bang and 
locked ; so Willie Willders descended to the street, 
and turned his face homewards, moralizing as he 
went, on the evils of drink. 

It was a long way to Notting Hill ; but it was 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


139 


not long enough to enable Willie to regain bis 
wonted nonchalance. He had seen and heard too 
much that night to permit of his equilibrium being 
restored. He pursed his mouth several times into 
the form of a round 0, and began “ Rule Britannia 
but the sounds invariably died at the part where 
the “ charter of the land” is brought forward. He 
tried “ The Bay of Biscay, 0 !” with no better suc- 
cess, never being able to get farther than “ light- 
ning’s vivid powers,” before his mind was up in the 
clouds, or in Mr. Tippet’s garret, or out on the 
Archimedes-Lever Railway. 

Thus wandering in dreams he reached home, 
talked wildly to his anxious mother, and went to 
bed in a state of partial insanity. 


CHAPTER XIL 


tHVRB A LITTLE DOMESTIC CHIT-CHAT, MINGLED WITH ALARMS. 

One night, not long after the events narrated in 
the last chapter, Frank Willders was standing with 
the fireman in charge, in the King Street Station. 
He had just removed his helmet, and the perspira- 
tion on his brow showed that he had been but 
recently engaged in some active duty ; as indeed 
was the case, for he had just returned from a 
“ walk” to a fire in Whitechapel. 

“ It was only a small affair,” said Frank, hanging 
up his helmet and axe, and sitting down to fill his 
pipe ; " a low beer-shop in Brook Street ; the tap- 
room burnt out, and the rest of the house damaged 
by smoke. It was pretty well over before I got 
there, and I left half- an -hour after. Where are the 
rest o’ the lads ?” 

"They're out wi' both engines,” said Baxmore, 
who was busy making a memorandum on a slate. 

“ With both engines !” said Frank. 

“ Ay, both,” replied Baxmore, with a laugh, as ha 

$40 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


141 


eat down in front of the fire. “ Let me see : it ’s now 
nine o’clock, so they’ve bin off an hour; one to 
Walton Street, Brompton ; the other to Porchester 
Terrace, Bayswater. The call was the queerest I ’ve 
seen for many a day. We was all sittin’ here 
smokin’ our pipes, as usual, when two fellers came 
to the door, full split, from opposite pints o’ the 
compass, an run slap into each other. They looked 
like gentlemen ; but they was in such a state it 
wasn’t easy to make out what sort o’ fish they was. 
One had his coat torn and his hat gone ; the other 
had his tile pretty well knocked down on his eyes 
— I s’pose by the people he run into on the way* — 
an’ both were half- mad with excitement. They 
both stuttered too, — that was the fun o’ the thing, 
and they seemed to think each was takin’ off the 
other, and got into a most awful rage. My own 
opinion is, that one stuttered by nature, an’ the other 
stuttered from fright. Anyhow, they both stuttered 
together, and a precious mess they made of it. 

“ ‘ F — F — F — Fire ! ’ roared one. 

“ ‘ F — F — F — Fire ! ’ yelled the other. 

“ ‘ Where away ? ’ asked Mr. Dale, looking quietly 
at the two men, who were gasping for breath. 

“ ‘ B — B — B — Brompton ! ’ < B — B — B — Bays- 
water ! ’ they shouted together ; and then, turnin' 
fiercely on each other, the one said ‘N — N — N— 
No ! ’ and the other said * N — N — N — No ! * 

*** 


142 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ ‘ Now, which is it V said Dale, ‘ an’ be quick — do. 4 

" * B — B — B — Brompton ! ’ 

“ * B — B — B— Bayswater !’ in a breath ; then says 
one, ' I — I s — s — say Brompton ! ’ an' the other, he 
says, 4 1— I s — s — say Bayswater / * 

“At this they grew furious, and Dale tried to 
calm them and settle the question by asking the 
name of the street. 

“ ‘ W — W— Walton S — Street ! ’ cried one. 

“ ‘P — P — P — Dorchester T — T — Terrace !’ shouted 
the other. 

“ ‘ N-— N— No ! ’ ‘ Y— Y— Yes ! ’ 4 N— No !\an’ 
with that, one up fist an’ hit the other a crack be- 
tween the eyes. T’ other returned on the nob, and 
then they closed. 

“ Before this Mr. Dale had ordered out one o’ the 
engines, an when he heard the two streets named it 
occurred to him that there might be two fires, so he 
ordered out the other engine ; and before we got the 
stutterers separated both engines were off full swing, 
one to Brompton, the other to Bayswater ; but 
whether there are two fires or no is yet to be 
seen” 

Just as Baxmore concluded, the rattle of a return 
ing engine was heard. Next moment it dashed up 
to the door, and the firemen, leaping off, streamed 
into the station, where, amid much comment and 
some laughter at the scene they had so recently 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


143 


witnessed, they hung up their helmets and crowded 
round the fire. 

“ So it was in Brompton after all,” said Jack 
Williams, stirring the coals ; “ but it was a small 
affair in a baker’s shop, and we soon got it out.” 

“ Is the other engine back ? ’ inquired Moxey. 

“ Here she comes to answer for herself,” said 
Mason, as the second engine dashed up to the station, 
and the men were joined by their comrades. 

“ We’ve got it out,” said Dale, sitting down before 
the desk to enter the particulars in his diary ; “ it 
was a private house, and well alight when we got 
there, but the Paddington engine was playing on it, 
and we soon got it under.” 

“ Faix, it ’s well them stutterers didn’t kape us 
longer, else the whole house would have bin burnt 
out intirely,” observed Joe Corney, binding up a 
slight wound in his thumb which he had received 
from a splinter. 

Most of the men were more or less begrimed 
with charcoal and smoke, and otherwise bore marks 
of their recent sharp though short skirmish, but 
none of them deemed it necessary to remove these 
evidences of devotion to duty until they had re- 
freshed themselves with a pipe. 

“ Were there people in the house ? ” inquired 
Frank. 

“ Ay, but Pickford was there with the escape, an' 


144 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


got 'em all out before we came up/’ said one. 
“ Pickford said he couldn’t help laughing after he 
got 'em out, at the remembrance o' their faces. 
When he first went in they was all sound asleep in 
the top floor, for the smoke was only beginnin' to 
show there, an’ the surprise they got when he jump 
in among ’em an’ shouted was wonderful to behold." 

“ dSTot so wonderful,’’ observed Bill Moxey, “ as 
the surprise I seed a whole man- o’ -war’s crew get 
by consequence o’ the shout o' one of her own 
men.” 

“ When was that ? let ’s here about it, Bill,” said 
Corney, stuffing down the tobacco in his pipe, and 
firing a battery of cloudlets into the air. 

“ We was in the Red Sea at the time,” said 
Moxey, clearing his throat, “ layin’ at anchor, and a 
precious hot time we had of it. There was never 
a cloud a’most in the sky, and the sun was nigh hot 
enough to fry the decks off the ship. Cook said 
he 'd half a mind to try to roast a junk o' beef at it, 
but I never heard that he managed that. We slep' 
on deck o’ nights, ’cause you might as well have 
tried to sleep in a baker’s oven as sleep below. The 
thing that troubled us most at that time was a tiger 
we had on board. It did kick up such a shindy 
sometimes ! We thought it would break its cage 
an’ make a quid o’ some of us. I forget who sent 
it to us — p’raps it was the Pasha of Egypt ; anyhow 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


145 


we weren't sorry when the order was given to put 
the tiger ashore. 

“ Well, the same day that we got rid o' the tiger 
we was sent aboard a Malay ship to flog one o’ the 
nen. He 'd bin up to some mischief, an' his com- 
rades were afraid, I s’pose, to flog him ; and as the 
offence he had committed was against us somehow 
(I never rightly understood it myself), some of us 
went aboard the Malay ship, tied him up, an' gave 
him two dozen. 

“ That night the whole ship's company slep’ on 
deck as usual — officers as well — all but the cap’n, 
who had gone ashore. It was a treemendous hot 
night, an' a good deal darker than usual. There 
was one man in the ship named Wilson; but we 
called him Bob Boarer, because of a habit he had 
of speakin’ an' sometimes roarin’ in his sleep. Bob 
lay between me an’ the purser that night, an’ we 
slep’ on all right till it was getting pretty late, 
though there was two or three snorers that got their 
noses close to the deck an’ kep’ up a pretty fair 
imitation of a brass band. Suddenly Bob began to 
dream, or took a nightmare or somethin’, for he hit 
straight out with both fists, givin' the purser a tap 
on the nob with his left, an' diggin’ his right into 
my bread-basket with such good will, that he nearly 
knocked all the wind out o’ me, at the same time he 
uttered a most appallin’ yelL 
K 


146 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ The confusion that followed is past description. 
Some of us thought it was the tiger had broke loose, 
forgettin’ that it had been sent ashore. Bob sneaked 
off the moment he found what he ’d done, and the 
purser, thinkin’ it was pirates, grabbed the first he 
could lay hold of by the throat, and that was me, so 
to it we went tooth an’ nail, for I had no notion 
who was pitchin’ into me, it was so dark. Two of 
the men in their fright sprang up the main shrouds. 
Two others, who were asleep in the main-top, were 
awoke by the row, looked down on the starboard 
side, an’ saw the two cornin’ up. Thinking it was 
the friends of the Malay who had bin flogged coming 
to be revenged, they ran down the port-shrouds like 
mad, and one o’ them rushed along the port- deck, 
stickin’ his feet into the bread-baskets of all the 
sleepers that hadn’t bin woke by the yell, rousin’ 
them up an’ causin’ them to roar like bo’s’ns. The 
row woke the cook, who was a nigger ; he, thinkin’ 
it was a sudden jollification, seized one o’ the coppers 
an’ began to beat it with an iron spoon. This set 
up the quartermaster, who rushed along the star- 
board deck, trampin’ upon the breasts and faces of 
all and sundry. The gunner thought it was the 
tiger, and took to the top of the awning; while 
the doctor and bo’s’n’s-mate they jumped over the 
side, and hung on by ropes up to their waists in 
vater ! 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


147 


“At tlie worst o’ the confusion the cap’n came 
aboard. We didn't see him, but he ordered silence, 
an' after a while we discovered that there was no 
reason whatever for the shindy. It wasn't till a 
long time afterwards that we found out the real 
cause of the false alarm ; but the only man that got 
no fright that night, and kep’ quite cool, was the 
man who set it all agoin’ — Bob Roarer.” 

“ What a feller you are, Bill, to talk blarney,” 
said Corney, rising and knocking the ashes out of 
his pipe ; “ sure, aither yer father or yer mother 
must have bin an Irishman.” 

“ Blarney or no blarney, them ’s the facts,” said 
Moxey, yawning, “ an’ I ’m off to bed.” 

“ Ditto,” said Frank, stretching himself. 

The two tressels, which were always removed 
from the room during the day, had been brought 
in, and were by this time occupied by Mason and 
Williams, whose duty it was to keep watch that 
night. Baxmore, the sub-engineer of the station, 
sat down at the desk to read over the events of the 
day, and the others rose to leave. 

“ By the way, Baxmore,” said Dale, “ what was 
that false alarm at 2 P.M., when I was down at 
Watling Street ? ” 

“ Only a chemist in Kensington, who, it seems, is 
mad after makin’ experiments, and all but blew the 
roof off his house with one of ’em” 


148 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


* Ah ! only smoke, I suppose ?” said Dala 

“ That was all,” said Baxmore, “ but there was 
sitch a lot of it that some fellows thought it was a 
fire, an’ came tearin’ down here wi’ the news, so we 
had a ride for nothing.” 

“ If I ’m not mistaken you ’ll have a ride for some- 
thing ere long,” observed Dale, turning his head 
aside, while he listened attentively. “ Hold on, 
lads, a minute ! ” 

There was a sound of wheels in the distance, as if 
some vehicle were approaching at a furious pace. 
On it came, louder and louder, until it turned the 
corner of the street, and the horses’ feet rattled on 
the stones as they were pulled up sharp at the 
station. Instantly the bell was rung violently, and 
a severe kicking was bestowed on the door. 

It is needless to say that the summons was 
answered promptly. Some of the men quietly re- 
sumed the helmet* they had just hung up, well 
knowing that work lay before them. 

A cabman darted through the door the instant it 
was opened, shouting — 

“ Fire!” 

“ Where ? ” asked Dale. 

“ Forth Street, Holborn, sir !” cried the cabman. 

Again, for the third time that night, the order 
was given to “ get her out.” While this was being 
done, Baxmore took a leathern purse from the cup- 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


149 


board, and gave the cabman a shilling for being first 
to “ give the call.” 

As the men were already accoutred, the engine 
left the station on this occasion in less than five 
minutes. The distance was short, so the pace was 
full speed, and in an incredibly short space of time 
they drew up in front of a large, handsome shop, 
from the first-floor windows of which thick smoke 
and a few forked flames were issuing. 

14 

Jitsifr wcfiyi f: ':'.w ■ mil , /rii vdl *hi ousda 


CHAPTER XIII. 


n* wmOG 80MS rather wild doings and daring deeds will bb 
trjxrfm ; also some curious eccentricities. 

Quick though they were, however, in reaching the 
scene of the fire, the escape was there before them. 
It had a shorter way to travel, and was already 
pitched, with its head resting against a window of 
the second floor, and the fly-ladder raised to the 
third. 

The people who had crowded round the building 
at the first alarm of fire, were looking on as if in 
suspense, and the firemen knew that conductor 
Forest, or one of his lion-hearted comrades, was 
inside doing his noble and dangerous work. But 
they had no time to pay attention to what was 
going on. 

While some of the firemen got the engine into 
play, the others ran in a body to the front- door of 
the burning house, the lower part of which was a 
coach-builder’s warehouse. It was a heavy double 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


151 


door, locked and barred, and the owner had not yet 
arrived with the key. It was evident that the fire 
had originated in one of the upper floors, for there 
was no light in the wareroom. 

“Get the pole-axe,” said Dale, as soon as he 
found the door was fast. 

Frank Willders sprang off at the word, and re- 
turned with an axe of the largest size attached to a 
handle nearly four feet long. 

“ Drive it in, Willders,” said Dale. 

Frank’s powerful blows at once thundered on the 
massive door ; but they fell on it in vain, for it was 
unusually strong. Seeing this, Dale ran back to the 
engine and got out the pole. 

“ Come, lay hold some of you ! ” said he. Imme- 
diately eight firemen, Frank and Dale being at the 
front, charged the door like a thunderbolt with this 
extemporized battering-ram. It gave way with a 
prodigious crash, and the whole party fell over each 
other into the warehouse. 

There was a burst of laughter from themselves, as 
well as from the crowd ; but in another moment 
they were up and swarming through the premises 
among the smoke, searching for a point of attack. 

“ Send the branch up here,” cried Mason, cough- 
ing violently. 

“ Sure, my peepers is out entirely !” gasped Corney 
rushing to the window for air; while showers of 


152 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


water fell on his head, for the engine was already 
in full play. 

Just then there was a noise outside, as if men 
were disputing violently. Dale guessed at once 
what it was, and ran down the staircase, calling 
out as he passed : “ Here, Willders, Comey, Bax- 
more, lend a hand, will you ?” 

On reaching the engine, they found about a dozen 
roughs of the lowest character, disputing fiercely as 
to which of them was to pump the engine ! As 
each man received one shilling an hour for this 
work, it became a desirable means of earning a good 
night’s wages to these broad-shouldered rascals ; 
who, in their anger, and in spite of the police, and 
the solitary fireman who superintended the engine, 
had actually caused the men already at work to 
cease pumping. 

We may remark in passing, that this would not 
have been the case, but for the police force, fron 
some unknown cause, being not very strong at that 
fire, and having an excited and somewhat turbulent 
crowd to keep in order. As a general rule, the 
police of London are of the most essential service at 
fires : and not a few of them have obtained the 
medals of the Society for the protection of life from 
fire, and other rewards for gallantry displayed in 
saving life at the risk of their own lives. 

On the present occasion, however, the few police- 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


153 


men present could barely hold their ground against 
such a band of stalwart desperadoes, so the firemen 
came to the rescue. In the front of the roughs stood 
a man who was stronger made and better dressed 
than the others. He had not been pugnacious at first; 
but having got involved in the riot, he struck out 
with the rest. Dale sprang at this man, who was 
none other than the half-nautical individual already 
introduced to the reader by the name of Gorman, 
and launched a left-hander at his head ; but Gor- 
man stepped aside, and one of his comrades was 
felled instead. At this, the others made a rush in 
a body at Dale ; but Frank, Corney, and Baxmore 
came up at the moment, and each knocked down 
a man. Instantly Dale seized an instrument from 
the engine, named a “ preventer,” like a large boat- 
hook, and, raising it at the full stretch of his power- 
ful arms, he brought it swoop down on the heads 
of the roughs, — six of whom, including Gorman, 
measured their length on the ground. 

Meanwhile, Bill Moxey and .Jack Williams, who 
had charge of the branch — which is considered the 
post of honour at a fire — had paid no attention 
whatever to this little episode ; but, the instant the 
order was given, had conveyed their branch into the 
building, and up to the first floor, where they 
thought they could reach the fire more directly; 
for it is an axiom in fire brigades to get into a bum- 
14 * 


154 FIGHTING THE FLAMES: A TALE OF 


ing building without delay, and attack the fire at 
its heart. 

They got the hose up a staircase, and began to 
play through a doorway at the head of it; but, to 
their surprise, did not make any impression what- 
ever. Two other engines, however, were at work 
by this time, — so the fire was kept in check. 

“Something wrong here,” said Moxey, speaking 
with difficulty, owing to the dense smoke. 

Owing to the same cause, it was impossible to see 
what was wrong. 

“I ’ll go in an’ see,” said Mason, dropping on hia 
hands and knees, and creeping into the room with 
his mouth as close to the ground as possible. This 
he did, because in a room on fire, there is always a 
current of comparatively fresh air at the floor. 

Presently the sound of Mason’s small hatchet 
was heard cutting up woodwork, and in a few 
seconds he rushed out almost choking. 

“ There,” said he, “ stick the branch through that 
hole. You’ve bin playin’ all this time up agin a 
board partition ! ” 

Moxey and Williams advanced, put the branch 
through the partition, and the result was at once 
obvious in the diminution of smoke and increase of 
steam. 

While these incidents were occurring outside and 
inside the building, the crowd was still waiting in 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


155 


breathless expectation for the re-appearance of con- 
ductor Forest of the fire-escape ; for the events just 
narrated, although taking a long time to tell, were 
enacted in a few minutes. 

Presently Forest appeared at the window of the 
second floor with two infants in his arms. Instead 
of sending these down the canvas trough of the 
escape in the usual way — at the risk of their necks, 
for they were very young, — he clasped them to his 
breast, and plunging into it himself, head-foremost, 
descended in that position, checking his speed by 
spreading out his knees against the sides of the 
canvas. Once again he sprang up the escape amid 
the cheers of the people, and re-entered the window. 

At that moment the attention of the crowd was 
diverted by the sudden appearance of a man at one 
of the windows of the first floor. 

He was all on fire, and had evidently been aroused 
to his awful position unexpectedly, for he was in 
such confusion that he did not observe the fire- 
escape at the other window. After shouting wildly 
for a few seconds, and tossing his arms in the air, 
he leaped out and came to the ground with stunning 
violence. Two policemen extinguished the fire that 
was about him, and then, procuring a horse-cloth, 
lifted him up tenderly and carried him away. 

It may perhaps surprise the reader that this man 
was not roused sooner by the turmoil and noise that 


156 FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 

was going on around him, but it is a fact that heavy 
sleepers are sometimes found by the firemen sound 
asleep, and in utter ignorance of what has been 
going on, long after a large portion of the houses in 
which they dwell have been in flames. 

When Forest entered the window the second time 
he found the- smoke thicker than before, and had 
some difficulty in groping his way — for smoke that 
may be breathed with comparative ease is found to 
be very severe on the eyes. He succeeded, however, 
in finding a woman lying insensible on the floor of 
the room above. In carrying her to the window 
he fell over a small child, which was lying on the 
floor in a state of insensibility. Grasping the latter 
with his left hand, he seized its night-dress with his 
teeth, and, with the woman on his shoulder, appeared 
on the top of the fly-ladder which he descended in 
safety. 

The cheers and shouts of the crowd were deafening 
as Forest came down ; but the woman, who had 
begun to recover, said that her brother was in a loft 
above the room in which she had been found. 

The conductor, therefore, went up again, got on 
the roof of the house, broke through the tiles, and 
with much difficulty pulled the man through the 
aperture and conveyed him safely to the ground.* 

* It is perhaps right to state here, that a deed similar to this In 
nearly every point was performed by conductor Samuel Wood, at 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


157 


The firemen were already at Forest’s heels, and 
as soon as he dragged the man through the hole in 
the roof, Frank and Baxmore jumped into it with 
the branch, and immediately attacked the fire. 

By this time all the engines of the district in 
which the fire had occurred, and one from each of 
the two adjoining districts, had arrived, and were in 
full play, and one by one the individual men from 
the distant stations came dropping in and reported 
themselves to Dale, Mr. Braidwood not being pre- 
sent on that occasion. There was thus a strong 
force of fresh firemen on the ground, and these, as 
they came up, were sent — in military parlance — to 
relieve skirmishers. The others were congregated 
in front of the door, moving quietly about, looking 
on and chatting in undertones. 

Such of the public as arrived late at the fire no 
doubt formed a very erroneous impression in regard 
to these men, for not only did they appear to be 
lounging about doing nothing, but they were helped 
by one of their number to a glass of brandy — such 
of them at least as chose to take it. But those who 
had witnessed the fire from the beginning knew that 

present a member of the London Fire-Escape Brigade, for which he 
received a testimonial signed by the then Lord Mayor, and a silver 
watch with £20 from the inhabitants of Whitechapel, to whom he is 
well known. Wood has, up to the present time, saved no fewer than 
168 lives by his own personal exertions. Many of his brave com- 
rades have also done deeds that are well worthy of record, but we 
have not space to do more than allude to them here. 


158 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


these men had toiled, with every nerve and muscle 
strained, for upwards of an hour in the face of almost 
unbearable heat, half- suffocated by smoke, and 
drenched by hot water. They were resting now, 
and they had much need of rest, for some of them 
had come out of the burning house almost fainting 
from exposure to heat and smoke. Indeed, Mason 
had fainted ; but the fresh air soon revived him, and 
after a glass of brandy he recovered sufficiently to 
be fit for duty again in half- an-hour. 

Frank and Baxmore were the last to be relieved. 
When two fresh men came up and took the branch 
they descended the stairs, and a strange descent it 
was. The wooden stair, or flight of open steps, 
which they had to descend first, was burnt to char- 
coal, and looked as if it would fall to pieces with a 
touch. 

“ I hope it ’ll bear,” said Frank to Baxmore, who 
went first. 

“ Bear or not bear, we must go down,” said Bax- 
more. 

He went unhesitatingly upon it, and although the 
steps bent ominously, there was enough of sound 
wood to sustain him. 

The second stair, also of wood, had not been quite 
so much charred ; but so great was the quantity of 
water poured continuously into the house, that it 
formed a regular water- course of the staircase, down 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


159 


which heaps of plaster and bricks and burnt rubbish 
had been washed, and had stuck here and there, 
forming obstructions on which the water broke, and 
round which it roared in the form of what might 
ha*e been a very respectable mountain -torrent, with 
this striking difference, that the water which rushed 
down it was hot, in consequence of its having passed 
through such glowing materials. 

The lower staircase was a stone one, — the worst 
of all stairs in a fire, owing to its liability to crack 
at its connexion with the wall, from the combined 
influence of heat and cold water. Just as the two 
men reached the head of it, it fell, without warning, 
in a mass of ruins. 

“ Never mind,” said Baxmore, “ the fire-escape is 
still at the window. 

So saying, he ran through the smoke and reached 
it. Frank was about to follow, when he observed a 
shut door. Without having any definite intention, 
he laid hold of the handle, and found that it was 
locked on the inside— he knew that, for he saw the 
end of the key sticking through the key -hole. At 
once he threw his weight on it and burst it open. 
To his amazement, he found a little old lady sitting 
quietly, but in great trepidation, in an easy-chair, 
partially clothed in very scanty garments, which 
she had evidently thrown oh in great haste. 

** Go away, young man !” she screamed, drawing a 


160 FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 

shawl tightly round her. “ Go away, I say ! how 
dare you, sir ?” 

“Why, ma’am,” cried Frank, striding up to 
her ; “ the house is on fire ! Come, I ’ll carry you 
out.” 

“ 'No — NO !” she cried, pushing him resolutely 
away. “ What ! carry me — me out thus ! I know 
it’s on fire. Leave me sir, I command you — I 
entreat you ; I will die rather than appear as I am 
in public !” 

The poor lady finished off with a loud shriek ; 
for Frank, seeing how matters stood, and knowing 
there was not a moment to lose, plucked a blanket 
from the bed, overwhelmed her in it, and exclaim- 
ing “ Forgive me, ma’am,” lifted her gently in his 
arms, bore her through the smoke, down the escape 
to the street ; carried her into a neighbouring house 
(the door of which was opportunely open), and 
laid her like a bundle on one of the beds, where 
he left her, with strict injunctions to the people 
of the house to take care of her ! Frank then 
went out to rejoin his comrades, and refreshed 
himself with a glass of beer ; while Baxmore* being 
a teetotaller, recruited his energies with a glass 
of water. 

By this time the fire had been pretty well sub- 
dued ; but there were some parts smouldering 
about the roof and upper floor, that rendered it 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


161 


necessary to keep the engines going, while the fire- 
men hunted their foe from room to room, and 
corner to corner, — extinguishing him everywhere ; 
not, however, before he had completely gutted the 
whole house, with the exception of part of the 
ground floor. 

“Keep away from the walls, men,” said Dale, 
coming up to the group, who were resting. 

At that moment there was a cry raised that some 
one was in the cellars. 

At the word, Baxmore ran into the house, and 
descended to the basement. There was little smoke 
here ; but from the roof, water was running down 
in a thick warm shower, which drenched him in 
a few minutes. He ran through the whole place, 
but found no one, until he opened the door of 
a closet, when he discovered two old women who 
had taken refuge there ; one being deaf and the 
other lame, as her crutches testified. They were 
up to the knees in water, and the same element 
was pouring in continuous streams on their heads, — 
yet, like the old lady up -stairs, they refused to move 
or be moved. 

Finding that persuasion was useless, Baxmore 
ran up for a hsrse-cloth, and, returning, threw 
it over the head of the deaf old woman, whom 
he bore, kicking violently, into the street. The 
other was carried out in the same fashion, — 
15 


L 


162 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


only that she screamed violently, being unable to 
kick. 

Soon after that, the fire was completely extin- 
guished, and the engines and men returned to their 
several stations, leaving London once again in com- 
parative repose. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

WHICH TELLS OP JOE CORNERS ADVENTURE WITH GHOSTS. 

When we said that the firemen returned to their 
respective stations, it must not be supposed that 
the house which had been burnt was left in forlorn 
wretchedness. No; one of the firemen remained 
to watch over it, and guard against the upstarting of 
any sneaking spark that might have managed to 
conceal itself. 

The man selected for this duty was Joe Corney. 
Unfortunately for Joe, this was the only part of a 
fireman’s duty that he did not relish. 

Joe Corney was, both by nature and education, 
very superstitious. He believed implicitly in ghosts, 
and knew an innumerable host of persons, male and 
female, who had seen people who said they had seen 
ghosts. He was too honest to say he had ever seen 
a ghost himself ; but he had been “ very near seein’ 
wan two or three times,” and he lived in perpetual 
expectation and dread of meeting one face to face 

163 


164 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


before he died. Joe was as brave as a lion, and 
faced danger, and sometimes even what appeared to 
be certain death, with as much unflinching courage 
as the bravest of his comrades. Once, in particular, 
he had walked with the branch in his hands, along 
the burning roof of a tottering warehouse, near the 
docks, in order to gain a point from which he could 
play on the flames so as to prevent them spreading 
to the next warehouse, and so check a fire which 
might have easily become one of the “ great fires 
of London.” 

Joe was therefore a man who could not be easily 
frightened ; yet Joe trembled in his shoes when he 
had the most distant prospect of meeting with a 
ghost ! 

There was no help for it, however. He had been 
appointed to watch the ruin ; and, being a man who 
cherished a strong sense of duty, he set himself 
doggedly to make the most of his circumstances. 

It was past one o’clock when the fire was finally 
extinguished. A few night-birds and late revellers 
still hung about it, as if in the hope that it would 
burst forth again, and afford them fresh excitement ; 
but before two o’clock, every one had gone away, 
and J oe was left alone with his “ preventer ” and 
lantern. Even the policeman on the beat appeared 
to avoid him ; for, although he passed the ruin at 
regular intervals in his rounds, he did not stop at it 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


165 


beyond a few moments, to see that the fireman’s 
lantern was burning and all right. 

“ Corney, me lad,” said Joe to himself, “it’s bad 
luck has befallen ye this night ; but face yer luck 
like a man now, and shame it.” 

Encouraging himself thus, he grasped his pre- 
venter, and pulled about the dtbris in various places 
of which he had some suspicion ; but the engines 
had done their work so effectually that not a spark 
remained. Then Joe walked up and down, and in 
and out for an hour ; studied the half-consumed pic- 
tures that still hung on the walls of one of the lower 
rooms, which had not been completely destroyed ; 
moralized on the dire confusion and ruin that could 
be accomplished in so short a space of time ; re- 
flected on the probable condition of the unfortunates 
who had been burnt out ; on the mutability of 
human affairs in general, and wondered what his 
“ owld mother” would think of him, if she saw him 
in his forlorn situation. 

This latter thought caused his mind to revert to 
ghosts ; but he was comforted by hearing the slow, 
distant foot- fall of the policeman. On it came, not 
unlike the supposed step of an unearthly visitant, 
until the guardian of the night stood reverb*! Wore 
him on the other side of the road. 

“ It ’s a cowld night intirely,” cried Corner . 

“ It is,” responded the policeman. 

15 * 


166 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ How goes the inimy ?” inquired the fireman. 

“Just gone three,” replied the other. 

The policeman’s voice, although gruff, was good- 
humoured and hearty ; but he was evidently a strict 
disciplinarian, for he uttered no other word, and 
passed on. 

“Faix, I ’m gettin’ slaipy,” remarked Joe to him- 
self, with a loud yawn. “ I ’ll go and rest a bit.” 

So saying, he re-entered the ruin, and with the 
aid of his lantern sought about for the least uncom- 
fortable apartment on the ground floor. He selected 
one which was comparatively weather-tight. That 
is co say, only one of the windows had been dashed 
out, and the ceiling was entire, with the exceptibn 
of a hole about four feet wide, through which the 
charred beams above could be seen depicted against 
the black sky. There was about an inch of water 
on the floor ; but this was a small matter, for Joe’s 
boots were thick and strong. The door too, had 
been burst off its hinges, and lay on the floor ; but 
Joe could raise this, and place it in its original 
position. 

The room had been a parlour, and there were 
several damaged prints hanging on the walls, besides 
a quantity of detached paper hanging from them. 
Most of the furniture had been removed at the com- 
mencement of the fire ; but a few broken articles 
remained, and one big old easy- chair, which had 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


167 


either been forgotten, or deemed unworthy of re- 
moval, by the men of the Salvage Corps.* 

Joe wheeled the chair to the fireplace, — not 
that there was any fire in it ; on the contrary, it 
was choked up with fallen bricks and mortar, and 
the hearth was flooded with water ; but, as Joe 
remarked to himself, “ it felt more homelike an’ 
sociable to sit wid wan’s feet on the finder ! ” 

Having erected the door in front of its own 
doorway, Joe leaned his preventer against the wall, 
placed his lantern on the chimney-piece, and sat 
down to meditate. He had not meditated long, 
when the steady draught of air from the window at 
his back began to tell upon him. 

“ Och ! but it ’s a cowld wind,” said he. “ I ’ll 
try the other side. There’s nothin’ like facin’ 
wan’s inimies.” 

Acting on this idea, he changed his position, turn 
in" his face to the window and his back to the door. 

O 

“ Well,” he remarked on sitting down again, 
f* there ’s about as much draught from the door ; 
but, sure, ye ’ve improved yer sitivation, Corney , — * 
for haven’t ye the illigant prospect of over the way 
through the windy ? ” 

* The Salvage Corps is a body of men appointed by the insurance 
offices to save and protect goods at fires, and otherwise to watch over 
their interests. They wear a uniform and helmets, something like 
those of the firemen, and generally follow close in their wake— in 
their own vans— when fires break out. 


168 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Not long after this, floe’s mind became much 
affected with ghostly memories. This condition 
was aggravated by an intense desire to sleep, for 
the poor man had been hard worked that day, and 
stood much in need of repose. He frequently fell 
asleep, and frequently awoke. On falling asleep 
his helmet performed extremely undignified gyra- 
tions. On awaking, he always started, opened his 
eyes very wide, looked round inquiringly, then 
smiled, and resumed a more easy position. But, 
awake or asleep, his thoughts fan always in the 
same channel. 

During one of those waking moments, Joe heard 
a sound which rooted him to his seat with horror ; 
and would doubtless have caused his hair to stand 
on end, if the helmet would have allowed it. The 
sound was simple enough in itself, however ; being 
slight, slow, and regular, and was only horrible in 
J oe’s mind, because of his being utterly unable to 
account for it, or to conceive what it could be. 

Whatever the sound was, it banished sleep from 
his eyes for at least a quarter of an hour. At last, 
unable to stand the strain of uncertainty, he arose, 
drew his hatchet, took down his lantern, and, 
coughing loudly and sternly, — as though to say : 
“ Have a care, I ’m coming ! ” — removed the door, 
and went cautiously into the passage, where the 
sound appeared to come from. It did not cease 


THE LONDON FIIiE BRIGADE. 


169 


on his appearing ; but went on slowly and steadily 
and louder than before. It appeared to be at his 
very elbow; yet Joe could sq£ nothing, and a cold 
perspiration broke out on him. 

“ Och ! av I could only see it ! ” he gasped. 

Just as he said this he did see it, for a turn of his 
lantern revealed the fact that a drop of water fell 
regularly from one of the burnt beams upon a large 
sheet of paper which had been torn from the passage 
wall. This, resting on the irregular rubbish, formed 
a sort of drum, which gave forth a hollow sound. 

“Ah, then, but ye are a goose, Joe Corney, me 
boy ! ” said the fireman, as he turned away with an 
amiable smile and resumed his seat after replacing 
the door. 

About this time the wind began to rise, and came 
in irregular gusts. At each gust the door was blown 
from the wall an inch or so, and fell back with a 
noise that invariably awoke Joe with a start. He 
looked round each time quickly ; but as the door 
remained quiet he did not discover the cause of his 
alarm. After it had done this several v times Joe 
became, so to speak, desperately courageous. 

“ Git out wid ye ! ” he cried angrily, on being 
startled again, “ wasn’t the last wan all a sham ? an* 
sure ye’re the same. Go Tong in pace -an’ good 
night ! ” 

As he said this the over- taxed man fell asleep; 


170 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


at the same moment a heavy gust of wind drove the 
door in altogether, and dashed it down on his head. 
Fortunately, being somewhat charred, the pannel 
that struck his helmet was driven out, so that Joe 
came by no greater damage than the fright, which 
caused his heart to bound into his throat, for he 
really believed that the ghost had got him at last ! 

Relieving himself of the door, which he laid on 
the floor lest it should play him the same prank over 
again, Joe Corney once more settled himself in the 
easy- chair and resolved to give his mind to medita- 
tion. Just then tl^ City clocks pealed forth the 
hour of four o'clock. 

This is perhaps the quietest hour of the twenty- 
four in London. Before this most of the latest 
revellers have gone home, and few of the early risers 
are moving. 

There was one active mind at work at that hour, 
however, namely, that of Gorman, who, after re- 
covering from the blow given him by Dale, went to 
his own home on the banks of the Thames, in the 
unaristocratic locality of London Bridge. 

Gorman owned a small boat, and did various 
kinds of business with it. But Gorman’s occupa- 
tions were numerous and not definite. He was 
everything by turns, and nothing long. When visible 
to the outward eye (and that wasn’t often), his chief 
occupations were loafing about and drinking. On 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


171 


the present occasion he drank a good deal more than 
usual, and lay down to sleep, vowing vengeance 
against firemen in general, and Dale in particular. 

Two or three hours later he awoke, and leaving 
his house crossed London Bridge, and wended his 
way back to the scene of the fire without any 
definite intention, but with savage desires in his 
breast. He reached it just at that point where Joe 
Corney had seated himself to meditate, as above 
described. 

Joe's powers of meditation were not great at any 
time. At that particular time they were exerted in 
vain, for his head began to sway backward and for- 
ward and to either side, despite his best efforts to 
the contrary. 

Waiting in the shadow of a doorway until the 
policeman should pass out of sight and hearing, and 
cautiously stepping over the debris that encumbered 
the threshold of the burnt house, Gorman peeped 
into the room, where the light told him that some 
one kept watch. Great was his satisfaction and 
grim his smile when he saw that a stalwart fireman 
sat there apparently asleep. Being only able to see 
his back, he could not make certain who it was, 
but from the bulk of the man and breadth of the 
shoulders he concluded that it was Dale. Anyhow 
it was one of his enemies, and that was sufficient, 
for Gorman s nature was of that brutal kind that he 


172 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


would risk his life any day in 'order to gratify his 
vengeance, and it signified little to him which of 
his enemies fell in his way, so long as it was one of 
them. 

Taking up a brick from the floor, he raised him- 
self to his full height, and dashed it down on the 
head of the sleeping man. Just at that moment 
Corney’s nodding head chanced toflall forward, and 
the brick only hit the comb of his helmet, knocking 
it over his eyes. Next moment he was grappling 
with Gorman. 

As on previous occasions, Joe’s heart had leaped 
to his throat, and that the ghost was upon him “at 
last ” he had no manner of doubt ; but no sooner did 
he feel the human arm of Gorman and behold his 
face than his native courage returned with a bound. 
He gave his antagonist a squeeze that nearly crushed 
his ribs together, and at the same time hurled him 
against the opposite wall. But Gorman was powerful 
and savage. He recovered himself and sprang like 
a tiger on Joe, who received him in a warm embrace 
with an Irish yell S . 

The struggle of the two strong men was for a few 
moments terrible, but not doubtful, for Joe’s muscles 
had been brought into splendid training at the 
gymnastics. He soon forced Gorman down on one 
knee ; but at the same moment a mass of brickwork 
which had been in a toppling condition, and was 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


173 


probably shaken down by the violence of their 
movements, fell on the floor above, brokt through 
it, and struck both men to the ground. 

Joe lay stunned and motionless for a few seconds, 
for a beam had hit him on the head ; but Gorman 
leaped up and made pff a moment or two before the 
entrance of the policeman, who had run back to the 
house on hearing Joe’s war-whoop. 

It is needless to add that Joe spent the remainde] 
of his vigil that night in an extremely wakeful con- 
dition, and that he gave a most graphic account of 
his adventure with the ghosts on his return to the 
station 1 


16 


CHAPTER XV. 


RECOUNTS A VISIT PAID BY WILLIE WILLDERS, WHICH SHOW8 HTM 
A NEW PHASE OF LIFE. 

“ Mother,” said Master William Willders one 
night to his parent, as he sat at supper — which meal 
consisted of bread and milk — “ he ’s the jolliest old 
feller, that Mr. Tippet, I ever came across.” 

“I’m glad you like him, Willie,” said Mrs. 
Willders, who was busy patching the knees of a 
pair of small unmentionables ; “ but I wish, dear, 
that you would not use slang in your speech, and 
remember that fellow is not spelt with an e-r at the 
end of it.” 

“ Come now, mother, don’t you go an’ get sarcastic. 
It don’t suit you ; besides, there ’s no occasion for it, 
for I do my best to keep it down, but I ’m so choke 
full of it that a word or two will spurt up now and 
then in spite o’ me.” 

Mrs. Willders smiled and continued her patching ; 
Willie grinned and continued his supper. 

“ Mother,” said Willie, after an interval of silence. 

174 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


175 


“ Well, my son ? ” 

“ What d’ ye think the old feller — ah ! ] mean 
fellow — is up to just now ? ” 

“ I don’t know, Willie.” 

“ He ’s inventin’ a calc’latin machine, as is* to do 
anythin’ from simple addition to fractions, an’ lie 
says if it works well he ’ll carry it on to algebra an’ 
mathematics, up to the fizmal calc’lus, or somethin’ 
o’ that sort. Oh, you ’ve no notion how he strains 
himself at it. He sits down in his shirt sleeves at a 
writin’-table he ’s got in a corner, an’ tears away at 
the little hair he has on the sides of his head (I do 
believe he tore it all off the top with them inven- 
tions), then he bangs up an’ seizes his tools, and 
shouts, ‘ Look here, Willie, hold on ! ’ an’ goes sawin’ 
and chisellin’ and hammerin’ away like a steam- 
engine. He’s all but bu’st himself over that cal- 
c’latin’ machine, and I ’m much afraid that he ’ll 
clap Chips into the sausage- machine some day, just 
to see how it works. I hope he won’t, for Chips an’ 
I are great, friends, though we ’ve only bin a month 
together.” 

“ I hope he ’s a good man,” said Mrs. Willders 
thoughtfully. 

“ Well, I ’m sure he must he ! ” cried Willie, with 
enthusiasm, “ for he is very kind to me, and also 
to many poor folk that come about him regularly. 
T ’m gettin’ to know their faces now, and when to 


176 FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 

expect ’em. He always takes ’em into his back 
room — all sorts, old men and old women an’ children, 
most of ’em seedy enough, but some of ’em well off 
to look at. What he says to ’em I don’t know, but 
they usually come out very grave, an’ go away 
thankin’ him, and sayin’ they won’t forget his advice. 
If the advice is to come back soon they certainly 
don't forget it ! And he ’s a great philosopher, too, 
mother, for he often talks to me about my int’lec’s. 
He said jist t’other day, ‘ Willie,’ said he, ‘get into 
a habit o’ usin’ yer brains, my boy. The Almighty 
put us into this world well-made machines, intended 
to be used in all our parts. Now, you’ll find 
thousands of people who use their muscles and 
neglect their brains, and thousands of others who 
use their brains and neglect their muscles. Both 
are wrong, boy ; we ’re machines, lad — wonderful 
machines — and the machines won’t work well if 
they ’re not used all over.' Don’t that sound grand, 
mother?” 

Willie might have received an answer if he had 
waited for one, but he was too impatient, and went 
rattling on. 

“ And who d’ ye think, mother, came to see old 
Tippet the other day,- but little Cattley the clown’s 
boy. You remember my tellin’ you about little 
Cattley and the auction, don’t you ? ” 

“Yes, Willie.” 


THE LONDON FINE BRIGADE. 


177 


“ Well, he came, and just as he was goin’ away I 
ran out an’ asked him how the fairy was. ‘ She ’s 
very ill/ he said, shakin’ his head, and lookin’ so 
mournful that I had not the heart to ask more. But 
I ’m goin’ to see them, mother.” 

“ That ’s right, my boy,” said Mrs. Willders, with 
a pleased look ; “ I like to hear you talk of going to 
see people in distress. ‘ Blessed are they that con- 
sider the poor,’ Willie.” 

“ Oh, as to that, you know, I don’t know that they 
are poor. Only. I feel sort o’ sorry for ’em, some- 
how, and I ’m awful anxious to see a real live fairy, 
even though she is ill.” 

“When are you going?” inquired Mrs. Win- 
ders. 

“ To-morrow night, on my way home.” 

“ Did you look in at Frank’s lodging in passing 
to-night ? ” 

“ Yes, I did, and found that he was in the station 
on duty again. It wasn’t a had sprain, you see, an’ 
it’ll teach him not to go jumpin’ out of a first-floor 
window again.” 

“He couldn’t help it,” said the widow. “You 
know his escape by the stair had been cut off, and 
there was no other way left.” 

“ Ho other way ! ” cried Willie ; “ why didn’t he 
drop ? He’s so proud of his strength, is Blazes, 
that he jumped off-hand a’ purpose to show it ! 
m ' 16 * 


178 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Ha ! he ’d be the better of some o’ my cautioa 
Now, mother, I’m off to bed.” 

“ Get the Bible, then,” said Mrs. Willders. 

Willie got up and fetched a large old family Bible 
from a shelf, and laid it on the table before his 
mother, who read a chapter and prayed with her 
son ; after which Willie gave her one of his “ ryos- 
tering ” kisses and went to bed. 

The lamps had been lighted for some time next 
night, and the shop-windows were pouring forth 
their bright rays, making the streets appear as light 
as day, when Willie found himself in the small dis- 
reputable street near London Bridge, in which Cattley 
the clown dwelt. 

Bemembering the directions given to him by little 
Jim Cattley, he soon found the underground abode 
near the burnt house, the ruins of which had already 
been cleared away and a considerable portion of a 
new tenement erected. 

If the stair leading to the clown’s dwe llin g was 
dark, the passage at the foot of it was darker ; and 
as Willie groped his way carefully along, he might 
have imagined it to be a place inhabited only by 
rats or cats, had not gleams of light, and the sound 
of voices from sundry closed doors, betokened the 
presence of human beings. Of the compound smells 
peculiar to the place, those of beer and tobacco pre- 
dominated. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


179 


At the farther end of this passage, there was an 
abrupt turn to the left, which brought the boy un- 
expectedly to a partially open door, where a scene 
so strange met his eyes that he involuntarily stood 
still and gazed. 

In a corner of the room, which was almost 
destitute of furniture, a little girl, wan, weary, and 
thin, lay on a miserable pallet, with scanty covering 
over her. Beside her stood Cattley — not, as when 
first introduced, in a seedy coat and hat ; but in full 
stage costume, — with three balls on his head, white 
face, triangular roses on his cheeks, and his mouth 
extended outward and upward at the corners, by 
means of red paint. Little Jim sat on the bed 
beside his sister, clad in pink skin-tights, with 
cheeks and face similar to his father, and a red 
crest or comb of worsted on his head. 

“ Ziza, darling, are you feelin’ better, my lamb?” 
said the elder clown, with a gravity of expression in 
his real mouth that contrasted strangely with the 
expression conveyed by the painted corners. 

“ No, father, not much ; but perhaps I ’m gettin’ 
better though I don’t feel it,” said the sweet, faint 
voice of the child, as she opened her large hollow 
eyes, and looked upward. 

“ So, that ’s the fairy !” thought Willie sadly, as 
he gazed on tne child’s beautiful though wasted 
features. 


180 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“We ’ll have done d’rectly, darling/’ said the 
clown tenderly ; “ only one more turn, and then 
we’ll leave you to rest quietly for some hours. 
Now, then, here we are again !” he added, bounding 
into the middle of the room with a wild laugh. 
u Come along, Jim, try that jump once more.” 

Jim did not speak ; hut, pressing his lips to his 
sister’s brow, leaped after his sire, who was standing 
in a remarkably vigorous attitude, with his legs 
wide apart and his arms akimbo, looking back over 
his shoulder. 

“ Here we go,” cried Jim in a tiny voice, running 
up his father’s leg and side, stepping lightly on his 
shoulder, and planting one foot on his head. 

“ Jump down,” said the clown gravely. 

Jim obeyed. 

“ That won’t do, Jim. You must do it all in one 
run ; no pausing on the way, — but, whoop ! up you 
go, and both feet on my head at once. Don’t be 
afeard ; you can’t tumble, you know.” 

“ I ’m not afeard, father,” said Jim : “but I ain’t 
quite springy in my heart to-night. Stand again 
and see if I don’t do it right off.” 

Cattley the elder threw himself into the required 
attitude ; and Cattley, junior, rushed at him, ran up 
him as a cat runs up a tree, and in a moment was 
standing on his father’s head with his arms ex- 
tended. Whoop ! — Next moment he was turning 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


181 


round in the air ; and whoop ! — in another moment 
he was standing on the ground, bowing respectfully 
to a supposed audience. 

To Jim’s immense amazement, the supposed audi- 
ence applauded him heartily ; and said, “ Bravyo ! 
young un,” as it stepped into the room, in the per- 
son of William Willders. 

“ Why ! who may you be ?” inquired the clown 
senior, stepping up to the intruder. 

Before Willie could answer, the clown junior 
sprang on his father’s shoulders, and whispered in 
his ear. Whatever he said, the result was an ex- 
pression of benignity and condescension on the 
clown’s face — as far as paint would allow of such 
expression. 

“ Glad to meet you, Master Willders,” he said. 
" Proud to know any one connected with T. Tippet, 
Esq., who ’s a trump. Give us your flipper. What 
may be the object of your unexpected, though wel- 
come visit to this — this subterraneous grotto, which 
may be said to be next door to the coral caves, 
where the mermaids dwell.” 

“ Yes, and there ’s one o’ the mermaids singing ,” 
remarked the blown junior, with a comical leer, as a. 
woman’s voice was heard in violent altercation with 
some one. “ She ’s a sayin’ of her prayers now ; 
oeseechin’ of her husband to let her have her own 
way.” 


182 


LIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Willie explained that, having had the pleasure of 
meeting with Jim at an auction sale some weeks 
ago, he had called to renew his acquaintance ; and 
Jim said he remembered the incident, — and that, if 
he was not mistaken, a desire to see a live fairy in 
plain clo’se, with her wings off, had something to do 
with his visit. 

“ Here she is ; — by the way, what’s your name ?” 

“ Bill Willders.” 

“ Here she is, Bill ; this is the fairy,” he said, in 
quite an altered tone, as he went to the bed, and 
took one of his sister’s thin hands in both of his. 

Ziza, this is the filler I told ye of, as wanted to 
see you, dear ; b’longs to Mr. Tippet.” 

Ziza smiled faintly, as she extended her hand to 
Willie, who took it and pressed it gently. 

WiHie felt a wonderfully strong sensation within 
his heart as he looked into the sufferer’s large liquid 
eyes; and for a few seconds he could not speak. 
Suddenly he exclaimed — “ Well, you ain’t one bit 
like what I expected to see. You’re more like a 
angel than a fairy.” 

Ziza smiled again, and said she didn’t feel like 
either the one or the other. 

“ My poor lamb,” said the clown, sitting down on 
the bed, and parting the dark hair on Ziza’s fore- 
head, with a hand as gentle as that of a mother, 
" we ’re goin’ now. Time s up. Shall I ask Mrs. 


THE LONDON FIKE B1UGADE. 


183 


Smith to stay with you again, till we come 
back ?” 

“ Oh no, no !” cried the child hurriedly and 
squeezing her fingers into her eyes, as if to shut out 
some disagreeable object. “ Not Mrs. Smith. I ’d 
rather be alone.” 

“ I wish I could stay with you, Ziza,” said Jim 
earnestly. 

“It’s of no use wishin’, Jim,” said his father; 
“ you can’t get off a single night. If you was to 
fail ’em you ’d lose your engagement, and we can’t 
afford that just at this time, you know; but I’ll 
try to get Mrs. James to come. She’s a good 
woman, I know, and — ” 

“ Mister Cattley,” interrupted Willie, “ if you ’ll 
allow a particlarly humble individual to make a 
observation, I would say there’s nothin’ in life to 
prevent me from keepin’ this ’ere fairy company 
till you come back. I ’ve nothin’ particular to do 
as I knows on, an’ I ’m raither fond of lonely 
meditation ; So if the fairy wants to go to sleep, 
it ’ll make no odds to me, so long ’s it pleases her.” 

“ Thankee, lad,” said the clown ; “ but you ’ll 
git wearied, I fear, for we won’t be home till 
mo min — ” 

“ Ah !” interrupted Willie, “ till daylight does 
appear. But that ’s no cdds, neither, — ’cause I ’m 
not married yet, so there ’s nobody awaitin’ for me — 


184 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


and” (he winked to Jim at this point) “ my mother 
knows I ’m out.” 

The clown grinned at this. “You’d make one 
of us, youngster,” said he, “if ye can jump. Hows- 
ever, I ’m obliged by your offer, so you can stay if 
Ziza would like it.” 

Ziza said she would like it, with such goodwill 
that Willie adored her from that moment, and 
vowed in his heart he would nurse her till she, — he 
did not like to finish the sentence ; yet, somehow, 
the little that he had heard and seen of the child, 
led him irresistibly to the conclusion that she was 
dying. 

This having been satisfactorily arranged, the 
Oattleys, senior and junior, threw cloaks round 
them, exchanged their wigs for caps ; and, regard- 
less of the absurd appearance of their faces, hurried 
out to one of the minor theatres, with heavy hearts 
because of the little fairy left so ill and comfor less 
at home. 

In a few minutes they were tumbling or the 
stage, cracking their jokes, and convulsing ^ 
house with laughter. 


CHAPTER XVI 


IN WHICH WILLIE WILLDERS COMES OUT IN QUITE A NEW LIGHT. 

Left alone with the fairy, Willie Willders began 
his duties as sick-nurse, a sphere of action into 
which he had never thought of being introduced, 
even in his wildest dreams. 

He began by asking the fairy if she was all right 
and comfortable, to which she replied that she was 
not ; upon which he explained that he meant was 
she as right and comfortable as could be expected in 
the circumstances ; could he do anything for her, in 
fact, or get her anything that would make her more 
comfortable than she was, — but the fairy shook her 
poor head and said, “ No.” 

“ Come, now, won't you have somethin' to eat ? 
What had you for dinner?” said Willie, in a cheery 
voice, looking round the room, but not discovering 
any symptoms of food beyond a few empty plates 
and cups (the latter without handles), and a teapot 
with half a spout. 

" T had a little bread and butter,” said the fairy. 

17 18 * 


186 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


" No tipple ?” inquired the nurse. 

“ No, except water.” 

"Ain’t there none in the house?” 

" No.” 

" D’ ye git nothin’ better at other times ?” inquired 
Willie, in surprise 

"Not often. Father is very poor. He was ill 
for a long time, too, and if it hadn’t been for your 
kind master I think we should all have starved. 
He ’s better now, but he needs pretty good living 
to keep him up to his work— for there \s a deal of 
training to be done, and it wears him out if he don’t 
get meat. But the pantomimes began and we were 
getting on better, when the fire came and burnt 
everything we had almost, so we can’t afford much 
meat or beer, and I don’t like beer, so I ’ve got them 
persuaded to let me live on bread and butter and 
water. I would like tea better, because it ’s hot, but 
we can’t afford that.” 

Here was a revelation ! The fairy lived upon 
bread and butter and water ! Willie thought that 
but for the interpolation of the butter it would have 
borne marvellous resemblance to prison fare. 

"When had you dinner?” inquired Willie Sud- 
denly. 

" I think about four o’clock.” 

" An can’t you eat nothin’ now ?” 

Again the fairy shook her head. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


187 


“ Nor drink ?’ 

“ Look if there ’s anything in the teapot,” said the 
fairy. 

Willie looked, shook his head and said — “ Not a 
drop.” 

“ Any leaves ?” 

“ Why, y-yes,” he brought the pot nearer to the 
candle ; “ there are a few used-up ones.” 

“ Oh, do pour some hot water into it ; but I fear 
the water is cold, and the fire ’s too low to boil it, 
and I know the coals are done ; but father gets paid 
his salary to-morrow, and he’ll give rne some tea 
then. He ’s very kind to me, father is, and so is Jim.” 

She sighed as she spoke, and shut her eyes. 

“ Ziza,” said Willie in a careless tone, “ you won’t 
object to my leavin’ you for a few minutes ; only a 
few ; I want to get a little freih air, an’ see what 
sort of a night it is ; I won’t be long gone.” 

Ziza, so far from objecting, said that she was used 
to being left alone for long long hours at a time, and 
wouldn’t mind it. So Willie put the candle nearer 
to her bedside, placed a tea-cup of water within 
reach, went out, shut* the door softly behind him, 
groped his way through the passage and up the stair, 
and got into the street. 

That day his eccentric employer had paid him his 
first month s wage, a sovereign, with many compli- 
mentary remarks as to his usefulness. The golden 


188 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


coin lay in his pocket. It was the first he had ever 
earned. He had intended to go straight home and 
lay the shining piece in his mother’s lap, for Willie 
was a peculiar boy, and had some strange notions in 
regard to the destination of “first-fruits.” Where 
he had got them nobody could tell. Perhaps his 
mother knew, but nobody ever questioned her upon 
the point. 

Taking this gold piece from his pocket, he ran 
into the nearest respectable street, and selected there 
the most respectable grocer’s shop, into which he 
entered, and demanded a pound of the shopman’s 
best tea, a pound of his best sugar, a pound of his 
best butter, a cut of his best bacon, and one of his 
best wax- candles. Willie knew nothing about rela- 
tive proportion in regard to such things ; he only 
knew that they were usually bought and consumed 
together. 

The shopman looked at the little purchaser in 
surprise, but as Willie emphatically repeated his 
demands he gave him the required articles. On 
receiving the sovereign he looked twice at Willie, 
rung the piece of money three * times on the counter, 
and then returned the change. 

Gathering the packages in his arms, and putting 
the candle between his vest and bosom, he went 
into a baker’s shop, purchased a loaf, and returned 
to the “ subterraneous grotto” laden like the bee. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


189 


To say that the fairy was surprised when he dis- 
played these things, would be a feeble use of lan- 
guage. She opened her large eyes until Willie 
begged her in alarm not to open them wider for fear 
they should come out, at which sally she laughed, 
and then, being weak, she cried. 

After that she fell in with her nurse’s humour, 
and the two proceeded to “ have a night of it.” Ziza 
said she ’d be a real fairy and tell him what to do, 
and Willie said he’d be a gnome or a he-fairy and 
do it. 

At the outset Willie discovered that he had for- 
gotten coals, but this was rectified by another five 
minutes’ airing, and a rousing fire was quickly roar- 
ing in the chimney, while the kettle sang and splut- 
tered on it like a sympathetic thing, as no doubt it 
was. Willie cleared the small table that stood at 
the invalid’s bed-side, and arranged upon it the loaf, 
the teapot, two cracked tea -cups, the butter and 
sugar, and the wax- candle — which latter was stuck 
into a quart bottle in default of a better candle- 
stick. 

“Now ain’t that jolly?” said the nurse, sitting 
down and rubbing his hands. 

“ Very !” replied the patient, her eyes sparkling 
with delight. 

“ It ’s so like a scene in a play,” continued WilJLia 

“ Only much more real,” suggested the fairy. 

17 * 


190 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ Now, then, Ziz a, have a cup o’ tea, fresh from 
the market o’ Chiny, as your dad would say, if he 
was sellin’ it by auction. He’s a knowin’ codger 
your dad is, Ziza. There. I knowed I forgot some- 
thin’ else — the cream !” 

“ I don’t mind it, indeed I don’t,” said Ziza 
earnestly. 

Willie had started up to run out and rectify this 
omission, but on being assured that the fairy liked 
tea almost as well without as with cream, and t hat 
there was no cream to be got near at hand, he sat 
down again and continued to do the honours of the 
table. First he made the fairy sit up in bed. and 
commented sadly on her poor thin neck as she did 
it, observing that she was nothing better than a 
skeleton in a skin. Then he took off his own jacket 
and put it on her shoulders, tying the arms round 
her neck. Next he placed a piece of board in front 
of her, saying that it was a capital tray, and on this 
he arranged the viands neatly. 

“ Now, then, go at it, Ziza,” he said, when all was 
arranged. 

Ziza, who received his attentions with looks that 
were wonderfully gleeful for one in her weak state 
of health, went at it with such vigour that the bread 
was eaten and the tea drunk in a few minutes, and 
the supply had to be renewed. When s'he was 
in the middle of her second round of buttered toast 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


191 


(for Willie had toasted the bread), she stopped sud- 
denly. 

“ Why don’t you go on ?” asked Willie. 

“ Because you have not eaten or drunk one mouth- 
ful yet.” 

“ But I ’m lookin’ at you, and ain’t that better ? 
Howsever, if ye won’t go on I ’ll not keep you back,” 
and with that Willie set to work, and being uncom- 
monly hungry, did what he styled “ terrible execu 
tion among the wittles.” 

For some time the nurse and. patient ate in com- 
parative silence, but by degrees they began to talk, 
and as they became more confidential their talk 
became more personal. 

“ D’ you like bein’ a fairy?” said Willie, after a 
lull in the conversation. 

“ No, I don’t,” replied Ziza. 

“ Why not ?” 

“ Because — because — I don’t like the kind of things 
we have to do, and — and — in short, I don’t like 
it at all, and I often pray God to deliver me from 
; t.” 

“ That ’s strange, now,” said Willie, “ I would 
have thought, it great fun to be a fairy. I ’d rather 
be a little clown or a he- fairy myself, now, than 
anything else I know of, except a fireman.” 

“ A fireman, Willie !” 

« Yes, a fireman. My brother, Blaz — a — Frank, I 


192 FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 

mean, is one, and he saved the lives of some people 
not long since.” 

Of course Willie here diverged into a graphic 
account of the fire in Beverly Square, and, seeing 
that Ziza listened with intense earnestness, he 
dilated upon every point, and went with special 
minuteness into the doings of Frank. 

When he concluded^ Ziza heaved a very deep sigh 
and closed her eyes. 

“ I ’ve tired you, Ziza,” exclaimed Willie, jumping 
up with a look of anxiety, and removing the tea- 
board and jacket, as the child slipped down under 
the clothes. He asked if she wanted to go to sleep. 

“Yes, for I’m very tired,” she sighed languidly; 
then added, “ but please read to me a little first.” 

“What book am I to read you?” said Willie, look- 
ing round the room, where no book of any kind was 
to be seen. 

“ Here, it *s under the pillow.” 

Willie put his hand under the pillow and pulled 
out a small pocket- Bible. 

“Read the third chapter of St. John’s Gospel," 
said the child, closing her eyes. 

Willie read in the monotonous tones of a school- 
boy’s voice until he came to the sixteenth verse: 
“ For God so loved the world, that he gave His 
only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him 
should not perish, but have everlasting life,” 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


193 


“ Stop at that verse,” whispered Ziza. “Ill go 
to sleep now.” 

Her deep breathing soon proclaimed that she 
was in the land of dreams, so Willie removed the 
candle a little farther away from her, and then rest- 
ing his elbows on the table and his head in his 
hands began to read the Bible. He turned over a 
few pages without much intention of finding any 
particular place, for he was beginning to feel sleepy. 

The first words his eyes fell upon were, “ Blessed 
are they that consider the poor.” 

He roused up a little at this, and read the verse 
again, for he connected it with the fact that the 
fairy was poor. Then he pondered it for some time, 
and, falling asleep, dropt his head on the Bible with 
such force that he woke up for a little and tried to 
read again, but do what he would he could not get 
beyond that verse; finally he gave up the attempt, 
and, laying his forehead down upon it, quickly fell 
sound asleep. 

In this state the couple were discovered, an hour 
or two later, by Messrs. Cattley senior and junior on 
their return from the theatre. 

“ Inscrutable mysteries ! say, what is this ?” ex - 
claimed the elder clown, advancing into the room 
on tiptoe. 

Apostrophizing his eye and one Betty Martin, the 
younger clown said that it was a “ rare go and no 

N 


194 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


mistake,” whereupon his father laid his hand on 
Willie’s shoulder and gently shook him. 

“Eh! another cup, Ziza?” exclaimed the self- 
accused nurse, as he put out his hand to seize the 
tea-pot. “ Hallo ! I thought it was the fairy,” he 
added, looking up with a sleepy smile; “ I do believe 
I ’ve gone and fell asleep.” 

“ Why, lad, where got ye all those things ■?” in- 
quired the senior Cattley, laying aside his cloak and 
cap, and speaking in a low tone, for Ziza was still 
sleeping soundly. 

“ Well, I got ’em,” replied Willie in a meditative 
tone, “ from a friend of mine — a very partikler 
friend o’ mine — as declines to let me mention his 
name, so you ’ll have to be satisfied with the wittles 
and without the name of the wirtuous giver. P’r’aps 
it was a dook, or a squire, or a archbishop as did it. 
Anyway his name warn’t Walker. See now, you ’ve 
bin an’ woke up the fairy.” 

The sick child moved as he spoke, but it was only 
to turn, without awaking, on her side. 

“ Well, lad,” said the clown, sitting down and look- 
ing wistfully in the face of his daughter, “ you ’ve 
got your own reasons for not tellin’ me — mayhap 
I ’ve a pretty good guess — anyhow I say God bless 
him, for I do b’lieve he ’s saved the child’s life. I ’ve 
not seen her sleep like that for weeks. Look at her, 
Jim ; ain’t she like her old self?” 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


195 


“ Yes, father, she don’t need no paint and flour to 
make a fairy on her just now. She ’s just like what 
she was the last time I seed her go up in a gauze 
cloud to heaven, with red and blue fire blazin’ all 
round her.” 

“ I ’ll bid ye good-night now,” said Willie, button- 
ing up his jacket to the chin, and pulling his cap 
down on his brows with the air of a man who has a 
long walk before him. 

“ You’re off, are you — eh?” said the elder clown, 
rising and taking Willie by the hand, “ well, you ’re 
a good lad. Thank ’ee for cornin’ here an’ takin’ 
care of Ziza. My subterranean grotto ain’t much 
to boast of, but such as it is you ’re welcome to it at 
all times. Good-night.” 

“ Good-night,” said Willie; “good-night, Jim.” 

Jim replied good-night heartily, and then Willie 
stepped into the dark passage. He glanced back at 
the fairy before shutting the door, but her eyes were 
closed, so he said good-night to her in his heart, and 
went home. 


CHAPTER XVII 

PRESENTS TWO GLIMPSES OF HOME LIFE. 

“ My dear Miss Tippet, I shall never, no never, 
p «t over it.” 

So said and so undoubtedly thought a thin little 
old lady with remarkably bright eyes, and a sweet 
old face, as she sat sipping tea at Miss Tippet’s 
elbow. 

It was in the drawing-room of Miss Deemas that 
she sat, and the Eagle sat opposite to her. 

“ It was very dreadful,” responded Miss Tippet 
with a sigh — “ very.” 

“ It was awful. I know I shall never get over it, 
— never,” repeated the little old lady, finishing her 
tea, and asking for another cup in the calmest pos- 
sible voice, with the sweetest possible smile. 

“Oh yes, you will, Mrs. Denman,” said Miss 
Deemas snappishly. 

“ No, indeed, I won’t,” repeated Mrs. Denman ; 
“how can I? Just think of the situation. Sitting 

196 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


197 


in my chair in dishabille, when a man — a man, Miss 
Deemas — ” 

“ Well, I know what a man is,” said the Eagle 
bitterly; “ why don’t you go on?” 

“ Burst himself through my bedroom-door,” con- 
tinued Mrs. Denman, “ with lime and charcoal and 
brick- dust and water streaming down his face, — 
f — fo — olded me in his arms, bore me out into the 
street — the street ! Oh ! I shall never, never get over 
it ; and so little, so very little clothing on me — ” 

“ How much had you on ?” asked Miss Deemas 
in a deep voice, the calmness of which contrasted 
forcibly with Mrs. Denman’s excited tones. 

“ Really, Miss Deemas, I see no necessity for 
going into particulars. It is sufficient to know that 
/ was carried by a man into the street in the face of 
some thousands of people, for I heard them cheering 
though I saw them not. I know I shall never get 
over it — another cup, my love ; not quite so much 
sugar — no, not if I were to live to the age of Methu- 
saleh.” 

“ I don’t wonder, indeed I don’t,” murmured the 
sympathetic Miss Tippet. “ I think, Julia dear, 
you are a little too hard on Mrs. Denman. How 
would you like to have been carried out of a burn- 
ing house in such a way by a big rough man ?” 

“ Oh, my dear,” interposed Mrs. Denman, “ I did 
not say he was rough. Big he certainly was, and 
18 


198 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


strong, but I must do him the justice to say that the 
man li- — lif — oh me ! lifted me up very tenderly, 
and carried me as though I had been an infant and 
he my mother, through smoke and fire and water, 
into the street, before the eyes of the — whole — oh. 
it’s too awful to think of!” 

“ Stuff ! ” ejaculated Miss Deemas, pecking a piece 
of cake out of her fingers as she would, metaphori- 
cally of course, have pecked the eyes out of the 
head of Frank Willders, or any other man. “ Didn’t 
you say he put a blanket round you ?” 

“Of course, Miss Deemas; I should have , died 
otherwise of pure shame.” 

“No, you wouldn’t,” retorted the Eagle. “You 
would probably have been half suffocated and a 
good deal dirtied, and you might have been singed, 
but you wouldn’t have died; and what need you 
care now, for the people saw nothing but a bundle. 
You might have been a bundle of old clothes for 
all they knew or cared. All they wanted to see was 
the bravery, as they call it, of the man ; as if there 
were not hundreds upon hundreds of women who 
would do the same thing if their muscles were strong 
enough, and occasion served.” 

“But it was a brave act, you know,” said Miss 
Tippet timidly. 

“ I don’t know that,” retorted Miss Deemas, help 
ing herself to more cake with as much decision of 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


199 


manner as if she had been carrying it off by force 
of arms from before the very muzzles of a masculine 
battery. “I don’t know that. He had to escape, 
you know, for his own life, and he might as well 
bring a bundle along with him as not.” 

“ Yes ; but then,” said Miss Tippet, “ he first 
went up the — the thingumy you know.” 

“ No, he didn’t,” retorted Miss Deemas smartly ; 
“ he was in the house at the time, and only came 
down the ‘ thingumy,’ as you call it !” 

It was a peculiarity of Miss Deemas’s character, 
that she claimed the right to be as rude as she chose 
to people in her own house, and rather prided herself 
on this evidence of independence. 

“ In my opinion,” said Mrs. Denman, “ his being 
in the burning house at all of his own accord, was 
of itself evidence of courage. I think the fireman 
is a brave young man.” 

Thus much Mrs. Denman said with dignity to 
Miss Deemas. The remainder of her speech she 
addressed to Miss Tippet. 

“But, my dear, I feel that although I owe this 
young man a debt of gratitude which I can never 
repay, I shall never be able to look my preserver in 
the face. I know that his mind will always revert 
when he sees me, to the fi — fig — the figure that he 
lifted out of that easy- chair. But there is one 
thing I have resolved on,” continued the little old 


200 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


lady in more cheerful tones, as she asked for an- 
other cup of tea, “and that is, to get a fireman to 
instruct me as to the best method of saving my own 
life should fire again break out in my dwelling.” 

The Eagle gave a hysterical chuckle at this. 

“ I have already written to one who has been 
recommended to me as a shrewd man, and he is 
coming to call on me this very evening at seven 
o’clock.” 

Mrs. Denman started, as if her own remark had 
recalled something, and pulled out her watch. 

“ Why, it is almost half-past six !” she exclaimed, 
rising hastily. “Excuse a hurried departure, Miss 
Deemas. Your society and sympathy” (she looked 
pointedly at Miss Tippet here) “ have been so agree- 
able that I did not observe how time was flying 
Good-bye, Miss Deemas. Good evening, dear Miss 
Tippet.” 

Miss Deemas bowed. 

“ Good-bye, my love,” said Miss Tippet, bustling 
round her friend. “ I ’m so glad to have met you, 
and I hope you ’ll come and see me soon ; 6 Poor- 
tiling Lane, remember. Come whenever you please, 
dear Mrs. Denman. Yes, yes, time does indeed fly, 
as you say ; or as my friend, Sir Archibald What’s- 
his-name used to remark, * Tempit fugus something 
re -what s-isname.’ Good- bye, dear Mrs. Denman.” 

While the ladies were thus engaged, one whom 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


201 


the Eagle would have tossed her beak at with 
supreme contempt was enjoying himself in the 
bosom of his family. This was none other than Joe 
Corney himself, who, having received a stop for a 
distant fire, had looked in on his wife to tell her of 
the note he had received from Mrs. Denman. 

The family bosom resided in a small portion of a 
small house in the small street where the fire-engine 
dwelt. 

Joe had laid his helmet on the table, and, having 
flung himself into a chair, seized his youngest child, 
a little girl, in his arms, raised her high above his 
head and laughed in her face ; at which the child 
chuckled and crowed to the best of its ability. 

Meanwhile his eldest son, Joe junior, immedi- 
ately donned the helmet, seized the poker, thrust 
the head of it into a bucket of water, and, pointing 
the other end at a supposed fire, began to work an 
imaginary hand-pump with all his might. 

“ It ’s goin’ out, daddy,” cried the urchin. 

“ Sure he ’s a true chip o’ the owld block,” ob- 
served his mother, who was preparing the evening 
meal of the family ; “ he ’s uncommon fond o’ fire 
an’ wather.” 

“ Molly, my dear,” said the fireman, \* I’d have ye 
kape a sharp eye on that same chip, else his fond- 
ness for fire may lead to more wather than ye ’d wish 
for,” 


18 * 


202 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ I ’ve bin thinkin’ that same meself, honey,” re 
plied Mrs. Corney, placing a pile of buttered toast 
on the table. “ Shure didn’t I kitch him puttin’ a 
match to the straw bed the other day ! Me only 
consolation is that ivery wan in the house knows 
how to use the hand-pump. Ah, then, ye won’t 
believe it, Joe, but I catched the baby at it this 
inornin’, no later, an’ she ’d have got it to work, I do 
believe, av she hadn’t tumbled right over into the 
bucket, an’ all but drownded herself. But, you 
know, the station ’s not far off, if the house did 
git alight. Shure ye might run the hose from 
the ingin to here without so much as drawin’ her 
out o’ the shed. — Now, then, Joe, tay ’s ready, so 
fall to.” 

Joe did fall to with the appetite of a man who 
knows what it is to toil hard, late and early. Joe 
junior laid aside the helmet and poker, and did his 
duty at the viands like the true son of a fireman — 
not to say an Irishman — and for five minutes or so 
the family enjoyed themselves in silence. After 
that Joe senior heaved a sigh, and said that it 
would be about time for him to go and see the 
old lady. 

“What can it be she wants?” asked Mrs. 
Corney. 

“ Don’t know,” replied her husband. “ All I know 
is that she ’s the old lady as was bundled neck and 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


203 


crop out o’ the first-floor windy o' the house in 
Holborn by Frank Willders. She’s a quare owld 
woman that. She ’s got two houses no less ; wan 
over the coachmaker’s shop — the shop bein’ her 
property— an’ wan in Russell Square. They say 
she ’s rich enough to line her coffin with goold an 
inch thick. Spakin’ o’ that, Molly my dear, a quare 
thing happened to me the other night. It ’s what 
ye call a coinmlence.” 

“ What ’s that, Joe ? ” 

“ Well, ’t ain’t easy to explain, but it means two 
things happenin’ together in a most onlikely way — 
d’ ye see ? ” 

“No, I don’t, Joe,” replied Mrs. Corney, helping 
herself to another slice of toast. 

“ Well, it don’t matter much,” resumed Joe, “ but 
this is what it was : Mr. Dale an’ me was sittin’, 
about two in the mornin’, at the station fire smokin’ 
our pipes (for it was my turn on duty) an’ chattin’ 
away about one thing an’ another, when somehow 
we got upon tellin’ our experiences, an’ Dale he 
tells me a story o’ how he was once called to a fire 
in a cemetary, an’ had to go down among the coffins 
— for they was afire — an’ what a fright some o’ his 
men got, when, just as he had finished, an’ all my 
flesh was creepin’ at wot I ’d heard, there comes a 
ring at the bell an’ a call to a fire in Portland Street. 
I runs an’ gets out the ingin, an’ Frank (he was my 


204 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


mate that night) he rings up the boys, an’ away we 
wint in tin minutes. It \vasn’t far, an when we got 
there in we wint into the house, which was full o’ 
smoke, but no fire to be seen. We wint coughin’ 
and sneezin’ an’ rubbin* our eyes down into a cellar, 
where the lads of another ingine was at work before 
us wi’ the hand-pumps, an’, would ye belaive it ? but 
the walls o’ that cellar was lined wr coffins ! True 
for ye, there they was, all sizes, as thick as they 
could stand. I thought I was dram in’, but it was 
no drame, for it was an undertaker’s shop ; an’ when 
I wint upstairs, after we diskivered the fire an’ put 
it out, I sees two coffins on tressels lyin’ ready for 
use. Wan was black-painted wood, no doubt for a 
poor man, an’ nothin’ inside o ’t. The other along- 
side was covered wid superfine black cloth an’ silver- 
mounted handles an’ name-plate, an’ it was all 
padded inside an’ lined wid white satin ! ” 

“ White satin, Joe ? You ’re jokin’.” 

“As sure as your name’s Molly, it was white 
satin,” repeated Joe ; “I wouldn’t have belaived it 
av I hadn’t seen it ; but that ’s the way the quality 
goes to their graves. I looks at the two coffins as 
I was cornin’ away, an’ thinks I to myself, I wonder 
whether the poor man or the rich man ’ll be most 
comfortable when they ’re laid there ? 

“ Now, Molly, I ’ll bid ye good- night an’ be^off to 
see this owld lady, this Mrs. Denman. Look afther 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


205 


that boy, now, an kape the matches out of his way, 
whativer ye do.” 

With this very needful warning, J oe Corney kissed 
his wife and the baby, and went off to the station to 
obtain leave of absence for a couple of houra. 


CHAPTEK XVIII. 

IN WHICH JOE CORNET IS ASKED FOR ADVICE BY AN OLD LAJ)tf, AND 
GIVES HER MITCH MORE THAN SHE EXPECTED. 

Wending his way through the crowded streets, 
Joe soon reached the door of the house in Bussell 
Square which belonged to Mrs. Denman. 

The good lady had made use of a cab after quitting 
Miss Deemas, so that she was at home and seated 
in a luxuriously easy chair in her splendidly fur- 
nished drawing-room when the fireman applied the 
knocker. 

“ Does Mrs. Denman stop here, my dear ? ” said 
Joe to the smart servant- girl who opened the door. 

“ Yes,” replied the girl, “ and she told me to show 
you up to the drawing-room whenever you came. 
Step this way.” 

Joe pulled off his cap and followed the maid, who 
ushered him into the presence of the little old lady. 

“ Pray take a chair,” said Mrs. Denman, pointing 
to one which had evidently been placed close to hers 

on purpose. “ You are a fireman, I understand ?” 

206 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


207 


“ Yes, ma’am,” replied Joe, “ I ’ve bin more nor 
tin years at the business now.” 

“ You must find it a very warm business, I should 
imagine,” said Mrs. Denman, with a smile. 

“ True for ye, ma’am. My body ’s bin a’most • 
burnt off my sowl over and over again ; but it ’s 
cowld enough too sometimes, specially when ye ’ve 
got tc watch the premises arter the fire’s bin put 
out of a cowld winter night, as I had to do at your 
house, ma’am.” 

Mrs. Denman started and turned pale. 

“ What ! d’ you mean to say that you were at the 
fire in — in Holborn that night ?” 

“ Indeed I do, ma’am. Och ! but ye must be ill, 
ma’am, for yer face is as white as a ghost. Shure 
but it ’s red now ! Let me shout for some wather 
for ye, ma’am.” 

“ No, no, my good man,” said Mrs. Denman, 
recovering herself a little. “ I — I — -the fact is, it 
did not occur to me that you had been at that fire, 
else I would never— but no matter. You didn’t see 
— see — any one saved, did you ?” 

“ See any one saved, is it ? Shure I did, an’ yer- 
self among the lot. Och! but it’s Frank Willders 
as knows how to do a thing nately. He brought ye 
out o’ the windy, ma’am, on his showlder as handy 
as if ye’d bin a carpet-bag or a porkmanty, 
ma’am — ” 


208 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“Hush, man l” exclaimed poor Mrs. Denman, 
blushing scarlet, for she was a very sensitive old 
lady ; “ I cannot bear to think of it. But how could 
you know it was me ? It — it — might have been 
anything — a bundle, you know.” 

“ Not by no manes,” replied the candid Joe. 
“ We see’d your shape quite plain, ma’am, for the 
blankit was tight round ye.” 

Mrs. Denman covered her face with her hand at 
this point, and resting her elbow on the arm of her 
chair, reflected that the thing was beyond remedy, 
and that, as the man had come and was now looking 
at her, matters could not be worse ; so she resolved 
to carry out her original intention, and question 
him as to the best course of action in the event 
of fire. 

“ My good man,” she said, “ I have taken the 
liberty of asking you to come here to tell me what 
I should do to guard against fire in future.” 

Joe rubbed his nose and looked at the ground ; 
then he stroked his chin and looked at the old lady ; 
then a look of intelligence lighted up his expressive 
countenance as he said abruptly — 

Is yer house an’ furniture insured, ma’am ? ” 

“ No, it is not,” replied Mrs. Denman. “ I have 
never insured in my life, because although I hear of 
fires every day in London, it ha3 never occurred to 
me until lately that there was any probability of my 


THE LONDON EIRE BRIGADE. 


209 


house being burned. I know it was very foolish of 
me, but I shall see to having it done directly.” 

“That’s right, ma'am,” said Joe, with an ap- 
proving nod. “ If you see’d the heaps an’ heaps o’ 
splendid furnitur’ an’ goods an’ build in’s as is burnt 
every day a’most in London, an’ lost to the owners 
'cause they grudged the few shillin’s of insurance, 
or ’cause they was careless an’ didn’t b’lieve a fire 
would ever come to them, no matter how many 
might come to other folk, you’d insure yer house 
an’ furnitur’ first thing i’ the mornin’, ma’am.” 

“ I have no doubt you say what is quite correct, 
Mr. Corney, and I will certainly attend to this 
matter in future ; but I am more particularly anxious 
to know how I should act if the house in which 1 
live were to take fire.” 

“ Get out of it as fast as possible,” said Joe 
promptly, “ an’ screech out fire ! till yer sides is 
sore.” 

“But suppose,” said Mrs. Denman, with a faint 
smile, “ that the fire is burning in the stair, and the 
house full of smoke, what am I to do ?” 

“ Och ! I see yer drift now, ma’am,” said Joe, with 
a knowing look. “ Av it ’s that what ye wants to 
know, I ’ll just, with your lave, ma’am, give ye a 
small discourse on the subjic.” 

Joe cleared his throat, and began with the air of a 
man whc knows what he is talking about, 
o 19 


210 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ It ’s as well, ma’am, to begin by tryin’ to prevent 
yer house ketchin’ fire — prevention bein’ better nor 
cure. If ye’d kape clear o’ that, there’s two 01 
three small matters to remimber. First of all take 
oncommon good care o’ your matches, an’ don’t let 
the childer git at ’em, if you ’ve any in the house. 
Would you believe it, ma’am, there was above fifty 
fires in London last year that was known to ha’ bin 
set alight by childers playin’ wid matches, or by 
careless servants lettin’ ’em drop an’ treadin’ on ’em?” 

“ How many ?” asked Mrs. Denman in surprise. 

“ Fifty, ma’am.” 

“Dear me! you amaze me, fireman; I had sup- 
posed there were not so many fires in London in a 
year.” 

“ A year !” exclaimed Joe. “ Why, there ’s nearly 
three fires, on the average, every twinty- four hours 
in London, an’ that ’s about a thousand fires in the 
year, ma’am.” 

“ Are you sure of what you say, fireman ?” 

“ Quite sure, ma’am ; ye can ax Mr. Braidwood if 
ye don’t b’lieve me.” 

Mrs. Denman, still in a state of blank amazement* 
said that she did not doubt him, and bade him go on. 

“Well, then,” resumed Joe, “look well arter yer 
matches, an’ niver read in bed ; that ’s the way 
hundreds o’ houses get alight. When you light a 
candle with a bit o’ paper, ma’am, don’t throw it on 


THE LONDON FIKE BRIGADE. 


211 


the floor an’ tramp on it an’ think it's out, for many 
a time there ’s a small spark left, an’ the wind as 
always blows along the floor sets it up an’ it kitches 
somethin', and there you are — blazes an* hollerin’ 
an’ ingins goin’ full swing in no time. Then, ma’am, 
never go for to blow out yer gas, an’ if there ’s an 
escape don’t rest till ye get a gasfitter and find it 
out. But more particularly don’t try to find it 
yerself with a candle. Och ! if ye ’d only seen the 
blows-up as I’ve seen from gas, ye’d look better 
arter it. Not more nor two weeks gone by, ma’am, 
we was called to attend a fire which was caused by 
an escape o’ gas. W’en we got there the fire was 
out, but sitch a mess you niver did see. It was 
a house, ma’am, in the West End, with the most 
illigant painted walls and cornices and gimcracks, 
idged all with goold. The family had just got into it 
— noo dqpe up for ’em, only, by good luck, there wasn’t 
much o’ the furnitur’ in. They had smelled a horrid 
smell o’ gas, for a good while, but couldn’t find it. At 
last the missis, she goes with a workman an’ a candle 
to look for it, an’ sure enough they found it in a 
bath-room. It had been escapin’ in a small closet 
at the ind o’ the bath, and not bein’ able to git out, 
for the door was a tight fit, it had gone away an’ 
filled all the space between the ceilin’s an’ floors, an’ 
between the lath, and plaster, and the walls. The 
moment the door in the bath-room was opened all 


212 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


this gas took light an’ blowed up like gunpowder. 
The whole inner skin o’ the beautiful drawing-room, 
ma’am, was blowed into the middle of the room. 
The cook, who was ih the drawin’-room passage, she 
was blow’d down stairs ; the workman as opened 
the little door, he was blow’d flat on his back ; an 
the missis, as was standin’ with her back to a door, 
she was lifted off her legs and blow’d right through 
the doorway into a bedroom.” 

“ Gracious !” exclaimed the horrified Mrs. Den- 
man, “ was she killed ?” 

“ No, ma’am, she warn’t killed. Be good luck 
they was only stunned an’ dreadful skeared, but no 
bones was broken.” 

Mrs. Denman found relief in a sigh. 

u Well, ma’am,” continued Joe, “ let me advise you 
to sweep yer chimleys once a month. When your 
cliimley gets afire the sparks they get out, and when 
sparks get out of a windy night there’s no tellin’ 
what they won’t light up. It ’s my opinion, ma’am, 
that them as makes the laws should more nor double 
the fines for chimleys goin’ afire. But suppose, 
ma’am, your house gets alight in spite of you — well 
then, the question is what ’s best to do ?” 

Mrs. Denman nodded her old head six or seven 
times, as though to say, “ That is precisely the ques- 
tion.” 

“ I ’ll tell you, ma’am;” here Joe held u£ the fore- 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


213 


finger of his right hand impressively. “In the first 
place, every one in a house ought to know all the 
outs and ins of it, 'cause if you ’ve got to look for 
things for the first time when the cry of ‘ Fire' is 
raised, it ’s not likely that you ’ll find ’em. Now, 
d’ye know, or do the servants know, or does any- 
body in the house know, -where the trap in the roof is ?” 

Mrs. Denman appeared to meditate for a minute, 
and then said that she was not sure. She herself 
did not know, and she thought the servants might 
be ignorant on the point, but she rather thought 
there was an old one in the pantry, but they had 
long kept a cat, and so didn’t require it.” 

“ Och !” exclaimed Joe, with a broad grin, “ sure 
it’s a trap- door I’m spakin’ of.” 

Mrs. Denman professed utter ignorance on this 
point, and when told that it ought to be known to 
every one in the house as a mode of escape in the 
event of fire, she mildly requested to know what she 
would have to do if there were such a trap. 

“ Why, get out on the roof, to be sure” (Mrs. Den- 
man shivered), “and get along the tiles to the next 
house” (Mrs. Denman shut her eyes and shuddered), 
“ an’ so make yer escape. Then you should have a 
ladder fixed to this trap -door so as it couldn’t be 
took away, and ye should have some dozen fathoms o’ 
half-inch rope always handy, ’cause if ye was cut off 
from the staircase by fire an’ from the roof by smoke 
19 * 


214 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


ye might have to let yourself down from a windy. 
It’s as well too to know how to knot sheets and 
blankets together, so that the ties won’t slip, for if 
you have no rope they’d be better than nothin’. 
You should also have a hand-pump, ma’am, and a 
bucket of water always handy, ’cause if you take a 
fire at the beginnin’ it’s easy put out. An’ it’s as 
well to know that you should go into a room on fire 
on your hands and knees, with your nose close to the 
ground — just as a pinter-dog goes — ’cause there’s 
more air there than overhead ; an’ it ’s better to go 
in wi’ the hand-pump the first thing. Don’t wait to 
dress, ma’am.” 

“ Stop, stop, Mr. Corney ! ” cried Mrs. Denman, 
holding up her hand. 

The little lady was stunned with the rapid utter- 
ance of the enthusiastic fireman, and with the dread- 
ful suggestion that she, Mrs. Denman, should, in the 
dead of night, get upon the roof of her dwelling and 
scramble over the tiles, or let herself down by a rope 
from a window into the public street, or creep into 
a burning room on her hands and knees with her 
nose to the ground like a pointer, and all this, too, 
in her night-dress, so she begged of him to stop, and 
said — 

“ But you forget, fireman, it is impossible for me 
to do any of these dreadful things.” 

“ Well, ma’am,” returned Joe coolly, “ it wouldn’t 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


215 


be easy — though, for the matter o’ that, it ’s wonder- 
ful what people will do for their lives ; but I was 
tellin- ye, ma’am, what ought to be done, so as 
somebody else in the house might do it, if you 
couldn’t. 

“ But suppose, ma’am,” continued Joe, without 
waiting for a reply, — “suppose that the house is 
alight. Well, the first thing you’ve got to do, is 
not to get into a fluster. That can’t do no good, you 
know, and is sure to do mischief. Keep cool. 
That ’s the first thing, ma’am ; and be deliberate in 
all ye do. The second thing is, to wrap a blanket 
round ye, an’ get out of the house as fast as ye can 
without stoppin’ to dress. It’s of no use lookin’ 
put out, ma’am ; for it ’s better to escape without 
yer clo’se than to be burnt alive in ’em. Then be 
careful to shut all doors after ye as ye go. This 
keeps the air from gittin’ at the fire, and so smothers 
it down till the ingines come up. Also keep all 
windows shut. If the smoke is like to choke ye, 
git yer nose as near the ground as possible, an’ go 
along on yer hands and knees. A bit o’ flannel or a 
worsted sock held over yer mouth an’ nose, will help 
you to bear it better. 

“ If ye can’t escape by the street-door, or the trap 
in the roof, then get into a front room, where you 
will be more easy to be got at wid ladders or fire- 
escapes, an’ see that every mimber o ’ the household 


216 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


is there. Many a wan has bin forgotten in the 
hurry-skurry of a fire, and left asleep in bed, igno- 
rant o’ the danger till too late ; when a cool head 
might have missed 'em, and wakened ’em in time. 
Whatever ye do, ma’am, — keep cool.” 

The probability of poor Mrs. Denman keeping 
cool in such circumstances was uncommonly small ; 
for she was at that moment hot all over, and her 
face flushed at the mere recital of such horrors ! 

Joe then went on to state, that the very last 
thing she should do was to jump from a window (a 
somewhat unnecessary piece of advice, poor Mrs. 
Denman thought), and that, when she was compelled 
to take such . a step, she should first of all pitch 
over all the blankets and bedding she could lay 
hold of to make her fall easy. He wound up with 
an emphatic reiteration of the assurance that her 
only chance lay in “ keeping cool.” 

That night, poor Mrs. Denman, in a condition of 
mind that is utterly indescribable, because incon- 
ceivable, went through the whole of the dreadful 
processes which Joe had described ; and did it, too, 
with miraculous presence v of mind and energy — in 
her dreams ! 


CHAPTER XIX. 


SHOWS HOW DARK PLOTS ARE HATCHED. 

Gorman was one of those peculiar characters, 
who, in personal appearance, are totally devoid of 
peculiarity. He was a middle-sized, thickset, 
commonplace, grave, quiet man ; very powerful, — 
but not apparently so ; one whom it was impossible 
to “ find out,” unless he chose to let himself be 
found out. Above all, he was a reserved man. 

Everybody knew well enough, at least among his 
intimates, that he was named Gorman ; but not one 
of the number knew what his Christian name was. 
A few were aware that he signed himself “ D. 
Gorman but whether the “D” represented David, 
dastard, drunkard, or demon, was a matter of pure 
speculation to all, a few of his female acquaintance 
excepted (for he had no friends), who asserted 
roundly that it represented them all, and some were 
even willing to go the length of saying that it 
represented more, and stood for dirty, drivelling, 
desperate, and a few other choice words which it is 

217 


218 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


quite unnecessary to mention. Only a few, and 
these were among the knowing and peculiarly 
obser/ant ones of Gorman’s intimates, said that 
•*D” stood for “deep.” But then, many of those 
who thus pronounced their opinion, were compara- 
tively worthless characters, given to scandal and 
slander ; so the reader must not allow himself to be 
biassed too much by their report. 

Certain it is, however, that when Gorman was 
asked on one occasion what his Christian name 
was, he replied that he had no Christian name ; 
because he didn’t believe in Christianity, and that 
he signed himself “ D,” to be distinguished from the 
other Gormans who might chance to exist in the 
universe. 

People were not at all shocked at his bold state- 
ment of unbelief ; because, in the circle in which he 
moved, the same disbelief was pretty general. 

Besides many other traits and qualities, definable 
and indefinable, Gorman had the power of assuming 
the appearance either of a burglar of the lowest 
type, or a well-to-do contractor or tradesman. A 
slight change in dress and manner were sufficient 
to metamorphose him beyond recognition. 

Everybody knew, also, that Gorman was the 
landlord of a small public- house at the corner of a 
dirty street, not far from London Bridge ; and that 
he kept a stout, middle-aged man on the premises 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


219 


fco do the duty of host, while he himself went about 
“ other business,” which nobody knew of, and 
which no one could find out, although many had 
tried to do so with all their might. 

Every day in the year, Gorman might have been 
seen at the “ Golden Swan but never for longer 
than a few minutes at a time, when he inspected 
the books, received the cash drawn the day before ; 
and made an impression on all in the premises, that 
tended to convince them they were well looked 
after. 

“Humph!” ejaculated Gorman, as he finished 
counting the dirty coppers and pieces of silver 
which his agent had delivered to him, and dropped 
them from his dirty fingers into a dirty leather bag : 
“ Business is dull, I think.” 

“ It ain’t brisk just now, sir,” replied the deputy- 
landlord of the “ Golden Swan.” 

Gorman received this reply with another “Humph,” 
and then putting the bag in his coat pocket, pre- 
pared to leave. 

“No one bin askin’ for me ?” inquired Gorman. 

“ No, sir ; no one.” 

“ I ’ll be back to-morrow about this time.” 

The deputy knew' that this was false, for his 
employer invariably came at a different hour each 
day, in order to take “ the house” by surprise , but 
he said, “ Very well, sir,” as usuaL 


220 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ And mind/’ continued Gorman, “ that you put 
the lights out. You’re uncommon careful about 
that, I hope ? ” 

It is worthy of remark, in reference to Gorman's 
anxiety about putting out lights, that he had been 
burned out of several sets of premises in the course 
of a few years. He was quite a. martyr, as it were, 
to fire. Unaccountably worried, pursued, and 
damaged by it, — no, not damaged, by the way ; 
because Gorman was a prudent man, and always 
insured to the full amount. His enemies sometimes 
said above it ; but neither they nor we have any 
means of proving or disproving that. 

The deputy protested that he always exercised 
the utmost precaution in putting everything out 
every night — from the last beery lingerer, to the gas 
— and that he felt quite put out himself at being 
asked the question, as it implied a doubt of his care 
and attention to business. Hereupon Gorman said 
“ Good-night,” and the deputy returned to the 
counter, where besotted men and drunken women 
awaited his attendance. 

Three quarters of an hour sufficed to convey Gor- 
man from the east to the west end of London. 
Here he sought the well-known precincts of Poor- 
thing Lane, and entered the shop of Mr. David 
Boone. 

That worthy received him with a look of glad 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


221 


surprise ; but with a feeling of the deepest 
misery. 

“ Any one inside ?” asked Gorman. 

“ No,” said Boone, “ ’cept the boy. I ’ll call him 
to mind the shop, and then we can be alone.” 

As Gorman did not vouchsafe a reply, but walked 
straight into the little room behind the shop, Boone 
called the boy, and bade him mind the shop, while 
he held private consultation with his friend. 

The shopboy enjoyed the name of Bobert Eoddy. 
He was a soft-faced, washed out youth, with a dispo- 
sition to wink both eyes in a meek manner. Bough- 
spoken people called him an idiot, but Boddy was 
not quite such an idiot as they took him for. He 
obeyed his master’s mandate by sitting down on a 
tall stool near the window, and occupied himself in 
attempting to carve a human face on the head of a 
walking-stick. 

“ Glad to see you, Mr. Gorman,” said Boone, seat- 
ing his tall body on a low stool at the side of his 
friend, Who, with his hat on, had thrown himself 
into an arm-chair, and spread out both legs before 
the fire. “Very glad to see you indeed, in my — 
my little sanctum, my withdrawing room, if I may 
venture to use the name, to which I retire during 
the intervals of business.” 

Boone said this with an air of pleasantry, and 
smiled, but his visitor did not encourage him. 

20 


222 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ Pretty long intervals, I should suppose,” he 
growled, pulling out his pipe and lighting it. 

Boone admitted, with a sigh, that they were, and 
observed that trade was extremely dull — astonish- 
ingly dull. 

“ Why, would you believe it, sir, I have not sold 
twenty shillings’ worth o’ goods all last week, and 
only one wax-doll within the month, although it ’s 
gettin’ well on for Christmas -time ? One would 
a’most fancy the childr’n was about to give up such 
vanities an’ devote themselves to serious business. 
It ’s a serious business for the like of us, anyhow.” 

Again Mr. Boone smiled, and again failed to 
make an agreeable impression on his visitor, who 
demanded in a surly tone if he had been thinking 
over it, and made up his mind to do it. 

Boone’s face changed at this indefinite question, 
and became a shade paler than it was by nature, as 
lie replied, hesitatingly, that he had been thinking 
over it, and that he had made up his mind not to 
do it. 

“ Oh, you have, have you ?” said Gorman in a tone 
of irony. “Very good; then I’ll trouble you to 
pay me^ the three hundred pounds you owe me by 
this day next week, and the rent of this here tene- 
ment for last half.” 

Boone’s face became still paler. 

“ You ’re a hard landlord,” said he. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


223 


“ You ’re a soft tenant/’ retorted Gorman. 

"You know what the punishment is by law/' 
continued Boone. 

"Yes — death,” said the other dryly; "hut you 
know as well as I do that it’s never carried out 
now-a-days.” 

" But penal servitude for ten or twenty years 
ain’t much better.” 

"Some men think it’s worse,” replied Gorman, 
with a savage grin ; “ but you ’ve no need to fear. 
If you only take the right precautions it ’s impos- 
sible to find it out, an” I ’ll engage to put ye up to 
doin’ it in such a way that there won’t be a scrap the 
size of a sixpence left to convict you. Only put a 
bold face on it and the thing ’s done, and your for- 
tune made as well as mine.” 

The man’s voice and manner softened a little as 
he said this, for he thought he perceived symptoms 
of wavering in his tenant, who covered his face with 
his large thin hands and sighed deeply. 

" Come, don’t be hard on me,” said he at length ; 
" I really haven’t got courage to go through with 
this. Only give me a little more time, and I ’ll — ” 

" Very good,” interrupted Gorman with an oath, 
as he rose and dashed his pipe into fragments on the 
hearth ; " if you won’t burn .yourself out o’ this 
scrape—” 

,( JIush ! hush, man !” said Boone in a hoarse 


224 FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 

whisper ; “ not so loud ; my lad will hear you. 
Come, I ’ll think of it.” 

“Will you do it?” demanded the other fiercely. 
“You know the alternative if you don’t.” 

“ Euination ? ” 

“ Exactly so ; and that without delay.” 

“ Euination either .way,” murmured Boone sadly 
to himself, as though he were counting the cost. 

“ Tut, man,” said his landlord, becoming more 
gentle, “ it ’s nothing of the sort. If you only take 
my advice it’ll be a jolly blaze, which, instead of 
ending in smoke will end in some thousands of 
pounds and commencing business again on fresh 
capital. Come, I ’ve not got time to waste with 
you. There ’s no escape for you, so you’d better say 
yes, else I ’ll go and have a talk with a legal friend 
of mine who is used to screwing gold out of most 
unpromising mines.” 

David Boone’s face had by this time become so 
pale that it could not become paler, so it turned 
somewhat green instead. His teeth, too, had a 
tendency to chatter when he spoke, but by a strong 
mental effort he prevented this, and said in a sub- 
dued voice that he was willing to do whatever his 
landlord pleased to command. 

“ That ’s all right,” said Gorman, resuming his 
seat in front of the fire ; “ now you speak like a 
man. Sit down and I ’ll go over the matter with 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


225 


you, and make your mind easy by showing you that 
it ain't either a difficult or risky piece of work. 
Bless you, it ain’t the first time I ’ve been up to that 
sort o’ thing.” 

It did not require the diabolical leer that accom- 
panied this remark to convince his hearer of its 
truth. 

“ Now, then,” said Gorman, with a business air, 
“first of all, how stands the stock in the shop ?” 

“ Rather low,” answered Boone, who had re- 
seated himself on the stool ; “ in fact, I ’ve got little 
or nothing more than what is visible. I ’ve bin so 
hard- up of late that I ’ve had to crowd everything 
into view an’ make the most of appearances. All 
the dressed dolls has got their frocks spread out, 
and the undressed ones their arms an’ legs throwed 
about to make ’em take up as much room as pos- 
sible. The lids of all the workboxes is open, the 
slates and puzzle-boxes stuck up in single rows, 
with their broadsides to the front, and the collap- 
sin’ worlds is all inflated. Everything in the front 
is real, but all behind is sham dummies an’ empty 
boxes.” 

Gorman opened his eyes a little on hearing this. 

“ Good,” he said, after a pause ; “ you ’re a 
cleverer fellow than I took you for. I thought 
you was well off, and I ’m sure the neighbours 
think the same, for the place looks pretty full an 

p 20* 


226 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


thrivin’. I suppose, now, if it was all sold off you 
wouldn’t have enough to pay up my loans ?” 

“ Nothink like it,” said Boone earnestly. “ I ’ve 
slaved night and day, an’ done my best, but luck’s 
again me.” 

“Ah, that’s ’cause you’ve bin faint-hearted in 
time past ; you ’re goin’ to be bold in time to come, 
"my good fellow ; you ’ll have to be bold, you will. 
Come, I ’ll explain how. But first, let me ask how 
much you think the stock is worth.” 

“ Not much above fifty pounds.” 

“ Hum ! it looks like more.” 

“That’s true, an’ the people about think it’s 
worth two or three hundred, for you see I have a 
lot o’ cheap jewellery, and some of the inquisitive 
ones have been trying to pump me of late. They all 
think I ’m thriving,” said Boone, shaking his head 
sorrowfully. 

“ So you are, so you are, man,” said Gorman 
jocosely, “ and you ’re going to make your fortune 
soon, and so am I, though at present I ’m poor 
enough. However, that don’t matter. Here ’s your 
course for the future, which you ’re to steer by. 
You ’ll go an’ begin chatting with your neigh- 
bours at odd times, and your conversation, curiously 
enough, will always be about the times bein’ better 
than usual, an’ about the approach of Christmas, 
an’ the stock you mean to lay in against that 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE^ 227 

festive season. After that you ’ll lay in the stock 
—fifty pounds worth; and it won’t be sham; it’ll 
be real — ” 

“ But where is the money to come from ?” asked 
Boone. 

“ Oh, don’t you trouble about the money ; I ’ll 
provide that. I’ve a curious power of raisin’ the 
wind on easy terms. Fifty pounds’ worth of real 
goods will be bought by you, my thriving shopman, 
and .you ’ll let some of the neighbours, partiklerly 
these same inquisitive ’uns, see the goods and some 
of the invoices, and you’ll tell them that you’ve 
laid in £150 worth of stock, and that you think of 
layin’ in more. On the strength of the press o’ 
business you’ll get another shop-lad, and you’ll 
keep ’em employed a good deal goin’ messages, so 
that they won’t get to know much about the state 6’ 
things, and I ’ll take care to send you a rare lot o’ 
customers, who ’ll come pretty often for small pur- 
chases, and give the shop an uncommon thrivin’ 
look. Oh, we’ll make a splendid appearance of 
doin’ business, and we’ll have lots of witnesses 
ready to bother these sharp lawyers if need be — 
won’t we, Boone ?” 

Poor Boone, whose colour had not yet improved 
much, smiled in a ghastly way, but said nothing. 

"Well, then,” resumed Gorman, after a few 
minutes’ meditation, "when this thriving trade is 


228 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


in full swing we 'll get it insured. You know it 
would never do to risk the loss of such valuable 
stock by fire — eh, Boone? common prudence pints 
that out ! You say what you have is worth fifty, 
and what you’ll lay in is fifty more, makin’ a 
hundred, so we ’ll insure for five hundred ; there ’s 
a clear gain of four hundred per cent. ; only think of 
that ! Well, the house I have already insured for 
five hundred, that makes nine hundred, and we’ll 
insure the furniture and fixings for fifty ; that ’ll look 
business-like, you know. Then the goods laid in 
will be carefully removed in the night at various 
times before the fire, so you had better see that they 
are small and portable objects ; that’ll make another 
fifty pounds, if not more. So I see my way to a 
thousand pounds. That’s a neat sum, ain’t it, 
Boone ? ” 

Still Boone made no reply, but favoured his visitor 
with another ghastly smile. 

“Well, then,” pursued Gorman, “all you’ve got 
to do is, on a certain night that I will fix, to set the 
shop alight, and the thing ’s done quite easy. But 
that ’s not all. You ’ve got an old mother, I believe ; 
well, it would be very unnatural in you to run the 
risk of being burned to death, an’ leaving her penni- 
less ; so you ’ll insure your life for five hundred 
pounds, and I’ll pay the first premium on it, and 
then you ’ll die — ” 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


22 & 


“Die ’’’exclaimed Boone, with a start. 

“Ay; why not, if you're to get a small fortune 
by it ?’• 

“ But how ’s that to be managed ? ” inquired Boone 
with a look of doubt. 

“ Managed ? nothing easier. You ’ll be so des- 
perately upset by the fire — perhaps singed a little 
too— that you ’ll be taken ill and won’t get better. 
I ’ll look carefully after you as your loving friend, 
and when you ’re about dead you ’ll get up and clear 
off in a quiet way. I ’ll make arrangements to have 
a corpse as like you as possible put in your bed, 
and then you’ll be buried comfortably, and we’ll 
share the insurance. Of course you ’ll have to leave 
this part of the town and disguise yourself, but that 
won’t be difficult. Why, man, if you were only fond 
of a joke you might even attend your own funeral ! 
It ’s not tl^e first time that sort of thing has bin 
done. So, then, you ’ll have your life insured, but 
not yet. Your first business is to set about the 
purchase of the stock, and, let me tell you, there ’s 
no time to lose, so I advise you to write out the 
orders this very night. I ’ll fetch you fifty pounds 
in a day or two, and you ’ll pay up at once. It ’ll 
look well, you know, and after it ’s all settled we ’ll 
divide the plunder. Now then, good-night. I con- 
gratulate you on your thriving business.” 

Gorman opened the door of the inner room as he 


230 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


said the last words, so that the lad in the shop might 
hear them. As he passed through the shop he 
whispered in his friend’s ear, “ Mind the conse- 
quences if you fail,” and then left him with another 
hearty good-night. 

Poor David Boone, having sold himself to the 
tempter, went about his duties like an abject slave. 
He began by ordering goods from various wholesale 
dealers in the City, after which he took occasion to 
stand a good deal at his shop- door and accost such 
of his neighbours as chanced to pass. The con- 
versation at such times invariably began with the 
interesting topic of the weather, on which abstruse 
subject Boone and his friends displayed a surprising 
profundity of knowledge, by stating not only what 
the weather was at the time being, and what it had 
been in time past, but what it was likely to be in 
time to come. It soon diverged, however, to busi- 
ness, and usually ended in a display of fresh goods 
and invoices, and in references, on the part of Boone, 
to the felicitous state of trade at the time. 

Do what he would, however, this thriving trades- 
man could not act his part well. In the midst of 
his prosperity his smiles were ghastly and his 
laughter was sardonic. Even when commenting on 
the prosperity of trade his sighs were frequent and 
deep. Some of his friends thought and said that 
prosperity was turning the poor map’s brain. Others 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


231 


thought that he was becoming quite unnatural and 
unaccountable in his deportment ; and a few, acting 
on the principle of the sailor’s parrot, which “ could 
not speak much, but was a tremendous thinker,” 
gave no outward indication of their thoughts beyond 
wise looks and grave shakes of the head, by which 
most people understood them to signify that they 
feared there was a screw loose somewhere. 

This latter sentiment, it will be observed, is a very 
common one among the unusually wise ones of the 
earth, and is conveniently safe, inasmuch as it is 
more or less true of every person, place, and thing 
in this sad world of loose screws. 


{ 


CHAPTER XX. 

WHEREIN THE TEMPTER D0E8 A LITTLE MORE IN THE HATCHINO WAT. 

. One night Edward Hooper, having consulted his 
watch frequently, and compared it with the clock of 
slow notoriety in the warehouse in Tooley Street, 
until his patience was almost gone, at last received 
the warning hiss, and had his books shut and put 
away before the minute-gun began to boom. He 
was out at the door and half-way up the lane, with 
his hat a good deal on one side of his head and 
very much over one eye, before the last shot was 
fired. 

“ It 's a jolly time of day this, — the jolliest hour 
of the twenty-four,” muttered Ned to himself, with 
a smile. 

His speech was thick, and his smile was rather 
idiotic, by reason of his having drunk more than his 
usual allowance at dinner that day. 

By way of mending matters, Ned resolved to renew 
his potations immediately, and announced his inten- 
tions to himself in the following words — 

232 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


233 


“Com — mi — boy — y-you’ll go-ave an-urrer por- 
o-porer— thash yr sort !” 

At a certain point in the drunkard’s downward 
career he ceases to have any control over himself, 
and increases his speed from the usual staggering 
jog-trot to a brisk zigzag gallop that generally 
terminates abruptly in the grave. 

Ned Hooper, a kind-hearted fellow enough, and 
thinking himself not so bad as he seemed because of 
that same kind-heartedness, had reached the gallop- 
ing point, and was travelling unusually fast along 
the high road to ruin. 

Being of a generous nature, Ned was in the habit 
of extending his patronage to various beer- shops, 
among others to that one near London Bridge which 
has been described as the property of Gorman. 
Business, pleasure, or fancy led him to that shop on 
the evening in question. He was standing at the 
counter steadying himself with his left hand and 
holding a pewter -pot in his right, when the door of 
the inner room opened, and Gorman crossed the 
floor. He was in a thoughtful mood, and was about 
to pass out without raising his eyes, when Ned 
arrested him with — 

“ Good ev-n-in’, Misher Gorm’n.” 

Gorman glanced back, and then turned away as 
if in contempt, but suddenly checking himself, 
returned, and going up to Hooper with as affable a 
21 


234 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


smile as his countenance would admit of, said that 
he was delighted to shake hands with him, and that 
he was the very man he wanted to see, as he wished 
to have a word of conversation with him. 

“ Conv’shas’n wi’ me ? ” said Ned, swaying him- 
self tc and fro as he endeavoured to look steadily in 
the face of his friend ; “ fire away, shen. I ’m sh’ 
man f’r conv’shash’n, grave or gay, comic-’r-shub- 
lime, ’s all the shame to me ! ” 

He finished the pot, and laid it, with an immense 
assumption of care, on the counter. 

“ Come out, we ’ll walk as we talk,” said Gorman. 

“ Ha ! to b’shure ; ’at ’s poetical, — very good, very 
good, we’ll wa-alk as we talk — ha! ha! very good. 
Didn’t know you wash a poet — eh ? don’t look like 
un.” 

“ Come along then,” said Gorman, taking him by 
the arm. 

“Shtop !” said Ned, drawing himself up with an 
air of drivelling dignity, and thrusting his hand into 
his trouser-pocket. 

“ What for ?” asked the other. 

“ I haven’t p-paid for my b-beer.” 

“ Never mind the beer. 1 11 stand that,’ said Gor- 
man, dragging his friend away. 

Ned consented to be dragged, and said something 
to the effect that he hoped to have the pleasure of 
•ridding treat on. some future occasion. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


235 


" Now, then,” said Gorman, somewhat firmly, 
though not sternly, for he knew that Ned Hooper 
was not to be browbeat ; “ are you sober enough to 
attend to what I ’ve got to say ?” 

“ Shober as a dudge,” answered Ned. 

Gorman looked earnestly in his face for a few 
moments, and then began to talk to him in a con- 
tinuous strain by way of testing him. 

“ C’found these cabs an* b-busseses ; a feller c-can’fc 
hear a word,” said Ned. 

“ Your lodgin’s an’t far off, are they ?” 

“ Close ’t ’and,” answered Ned. 

“ Let ’s go to ’em,” said Gorman. 

In silence Ned Hooper led the way, and, conduct- 
ing his friend into his “ chamber,” as he styled his 
poor abode, begged him to be seated, and threw him- 
self into an arm-chair beside the little fire. There 
was a pipe on the chimney-piece, which Ned began 
to fill, while Gorman opened the conversation. 

“ You ’re hard up, rather, just now ?” said the 
latter. 

“ ’Xactly so, that ’s my c’ndition to a tee.” 

Ned smiled as he said this, as though it were the 
most satisfactory state of things possible, and lighted 
his pipe. 

“ Of course you ’ve no objection to make a fifty 
pound note or so,” asked Gorman. 

“ None in sh’ wold ; always,” he became very 


236 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


earnest here, “ always sh’posin’ that I make it 
honestly.” 

“ Of course, of course,” rejoined the other ; “ I 
would never propose anything that would lead you 
into a scrape. You don’t suppose I would do that, 

I hope?” 

“ Shertenly not,” replied Ned with a smile ; “ fire 
away.” 

“ Well, then, I ’m anxious just now to procure a 
dead corpse.” 

Ned Hooper, drunk as he was, felt somewhat 
startled by this, but, being a man of wandering and 
lively imagination, turned from the point in question 
to an idea suggested by it. 

“ I sh’pose a living corpse wouldn’t do, would it ?, 

It must be a dead one — eh ?” 

“ Be serious if you can,” said Gorman angrily. “ I 
want a corpse.” 

Ned Hooper, who, like many good-humoured men, 
was easily roused when in a state of intoxication, 
fired at the tone of Gorman’s voice, and looked at 
him as sternly as he could, while he replied— 

“ What have I got to do with yer wants an’ yer 
copses — eh? You don’t sh’pose I keep a stock of 
’em on hand ready-made, do you — eh ?” then relaps- t 
ing into a placid frame, he smiled, and added, “ But 
fire away, ol’ feller, I’m yer man for conv’sashia 
specially w’en it’s in the comic line.” 


THE LONDON TIRE BRIGADE. 


237 


“ That’s right,” said Gorman, clapping Ned on the 
shoulder and endeavouring to conciliate him ; “now, 
then, the question is, how am I to get un ?” 

“ Ah, thash the question, if Shakspr ’s to be 
b’lieved.” 

“ Well, but couldn’t you think ?” said Gorman. 

“ Think !” exclaimed the other, “ what am I paid 
a salary for ? What are my brains doin’ night an’ 
day — eh? Of course I can think; thash ’s ray 
pr’feshion is thinking.” 

Gorman cast a scornful look at his friend, but he 
deemed it prudent to admit the truth of what he 
said, and suggested that he might perhaps remembei 
a certain medical student with whom he had once 
held pleasant converse in his (Gorman’s) house of 
entertainment. 

“ R’member him, of course,” hiccuped Ned. 

“ Well, then, he could get us a corpse, you know, 
— couldn’t he ?” 

Ned looked uncommonly knowing at this point, 
and admitted that he rather thought he could — a 
dozen of them, if necessary. 

“ Well, I want one, and I’ll pay well for it if it’s 
of the right sort. It must be at least six-foot two, 
thin about the jaws, with lanky black hair, and a 
yellow complexion.” 

Ned smiled facetiously, but at the same time 
shook his head. 


21 * 


238 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ Six f’t two,” said he, “ an’t a common height ■ 
it won’t be easy to get un so tall ; but — but,” he pon- 
dered here with a grave expression of countenance, 
“ but it might be stretched a bit, you know — eh ? As 
to thin jaws, most of ’em is thin about sh jaws, an' 
flack hair ain’t un-uncommon.” 

Ned yawned at this point, and looked very sleepy. 

“ Well, you ’ll speak to him, won’t you, and I ’ll 
make it worth while for both of you ?” 

“ Oh yesh, I ’ll shpeak to him,” said Ned, as his head 
fell on the table and his senses utterly forsook him. 

“ Bah ! you beast,” muttered Gorman, casting a 
glance of scorn on his friend as he rose to leave. 
He had the sense, before going, to extinguish the 
candle, lest Ned should overturn it and set the 
house on fire ; not that he cared either for Ned or 
the house, but as the former happened to be neces- 
sary to him just then, he did not wish him to be 
burned too soon. Then he went out, closing the 
door softly after him. 

Half-an-hour afterwards Ned’s friend and fellow- 
lodger, John Barret, entered the room, accompanied 
by Fred Auberly. 

“ Come, Fred,” said the former, “ we can chat here 
without interr— hallo !” 

“ What ’s wrong ? ” inquired Fred, endeavouring to 
make out objects by the feeble flicker of the fire, 
while his friend struck a light. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


239 


Barret did not reply, but the light soon revealed 
Ned’s disreputable figure half sprawling on and half 
clinging to the table. 

“ Surely this is not your chum, John ?” asked Fred 
in surprise. 

“ Yes, that ’s him,” answered Barret in a low sad 
voice. “ Help me to get him into bed, like a good 
fellow.” 

Without a word the young men raised the drunken 
figure in their arms, and laid it like some loathsome 
object on one of the beds in the adjoining room. 

“ How can you stay with him ?” asked Auberly 
after they had returned to the other room and seated 
themselves at the fire. 

“ He is an old school-fellow of mine,” said Barret 
in a low voice. “ I ’m sorry you ’ve seen him in this 
state. He was a very different fellow once, I assure 
you ; and if it were not for that accursed drink he 
would be as pleasant a companion as exists. You 
know I have no friends in London save yourself, 
Fred, and this young fellow. I came to stay with 
him at first, not knowing his character, and now I 
remain to try to — to save him ; but I fear his case 
is hopeless. Come, Fred, we won’t talk of it. You 
were saying, as we came along, that your father ifl 
sterner than ever, were you not ?” 

“Ay,” said Fred with a sigh, “he won’t even let 
me call to see my sister Loo — that s the worst of it 


240 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


For the rest I care not ; my brush has sustained me 
hitherto, and my love for my profession increases 
every hour. I feel towards it, John, as a man may 
be supposed to feel towards the sweet, young girl 
whom wicked guardians had for a long time refused 
to let him wed. Nothing but death shall separate 
us now !” 

Barret smiled and was about to make some re- 
joinder, but he checked himself and changed the 
subject. 

“ How is your sister ?” said he; “ I have not heard 
uf her for a long time.” 

“ Not well,” answered Fred ; “ the doctors shake 
their heads and speak of the shock having been too 
much for her. Dear Loo, she never was strong, and 
I ’m afraid that she has received fatal injury on the 
night of the fire. I ’m told that my poor father is 
sadly cut up about her — attends on her night and 
day, and humours her every whim. This is so un- 
like him that it fills me with anxiety on account of 
dear Loo, whom I have not seen since I went to live 
at Kensington.” 

“ Kensington, Fred ? I did not know you had gone 
to live there.” 

“ I was just going to mention that when we 
came in. I have got a very comfortable lodging 
with — who do you think ? you 11 never guess — Mrs. 
Willders, the mother of our young friend Willie who 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


241 


works with old Tom Tippet up- stairs. You may 
well look surprised. I came upon the lodging quite 
accidentally, and, finding that it suited my inclina- 
tions and my purse, I took it at once for a few weeks. 
It ’s in a very poor locality, no doubt, but you know 
a man must cut his coat according to his cloth. 
And my cloth is not broad at present. But then,” 
continued Fred, with sudden animation, “ it ’s a 
splendid place fora painter! There are such pic- 
turesque regions and bits near it. Why, Kensington 
Gardens are sufficient to make the fortune of a land- 
scape-painter — at least in the way of trees ; then an 
hour s walk takes you to rural scenery, or canal 
scenery, with barges, bridges, boats, old stores, cot- 
tages, etc. Oh! it’s a magnificent spot, and I’m 
hard at work on a picturesque old pump near 
Shepherd’s Bush Common, with a bit of old brick 
wall behind it half-covered with ivy, and a gipsy- 
like beggar-girl drinking at it out of her hand ; that 
— that ’ll make an impression, I think, on the Royal 
Academy, if — if they take it in 

“ Ah ! if they take it in,” said John Barret, smil- 
ing. 

“ Well,” retorted Fred Auberly, “ I know that is 
a point of uncertainty, and I ’m not very sanguine, 
because there is great lack of room. Nevertheless, 
I mean to send it. And you know, John, ‘ faint 
heart never won fair lady/ so — ” 

Q 


242 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


At this point the conversation was interrupted by 
a shrill whistle at the top of the house, which, as it 
drew nearer, became identified with the air of Rule 
Britannia. 

“ That ’s Willie Willders,” said Barret, laughing. 

“ I guessed as much, and with your leave I ’ll call 
him in. He knows of my having become an inmate 
of his mother’s house, and as he is probably going 
home I would like to send a message to his mother. 
—Hallo ! Willie.” 

“ Ay, ay, sir !” answered the youth, in the tones of 
a throughbred seaman. Not that Willie had ever 
been at sea, but he was so fond of seamen, and had 
mingled with them so much at the docks, as well as 
those of them who had become firemen, that he tried 
to imitate their gait and tones. 

“ Come here, you scamp, and stop your noise.” 

“ Certainly, sir,” said Willie, with a grin, as he 
entered the room cap in hand. 

“ Going home, lad ?” asked Fred. 

“ Yes, sir— at least in a permiscuous sort of way - f 
entertainin’ myself as I goes with agreeable talk, 
and improvin’ obsarvation of the shop winders 
etceterrer.” 

“ Will you take a message to your mother ?” 

“Sur e-£y,” answered Willie. 

“ Well, say to her that I have several calls to 
rnake to-night and may be late in getting home,: but 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


243 


she need not sit up for me as I have the door-key ; 
tell her not to forget to leave the door on the latch ” 
“ Wery good, sir/’ said Willie. “ May I make so 
bold as to ask how Miss Loo was when you see’d her 
last?” 

“ Not well, I regret to say,” replied Fred. 

“ Indeed ! I ’m surprised to hear that, for she ’s 
agoin’ out to tea to-morrow night, sir.” 

“ My surprise is greater than yours, lad; how d’ you 
know that, and where is she going to ?” asked Auberly. 

Here Willie explained in a very elaborate manner 
that a note had arrived that forenoon from Miss 
Tippet, inviting Mr. Tippet to tea the following even- 
ing, and expressing a hope that he would bring with 
him his clerk, “ Mister ” Willders, the brother of the 
brave fireman who had saved Loo's life, and that 
Miss Louisa Auberly was to be there, and that Mr. 
Tippet had written a note accepting the same. 

“ Then you ’ll have to take another message from 
me, Willie. Tell Miss Tippet when you go to- 
morrow that I will give myself the pleasure of look- 
ing in on her in the course of the evening,” said 
Fred. “ Mr. Auberly is not to be there, is he V* 

“ No, not as I knows of.” 

“ Well, good-night, Willie,” 

Willie took his departure, marching to the usual 
national air, and soon after Fred Auberly bade his 
friend good-night and left him. 


CHAPTER XXI 

DESCRIBES A SMALL TEA-PARTY. 

Miss Tippet’s tea-party began by the arrival of 
Willie Willders, who, being fond of society, and re- 
gardless of fashion, understood his hostess literally 
when she. named her tea-hour ! For full half-an-hour, 
therefore, he had the field to himself, and improved 
the occasion by entertaining Miss Tippet and Emma 
Ward with an account of the wonderful inventions 
that emanated from the fertile brain of .Mr. Thomas 
Tippet. 

Strange to say, a deep and lasting friendship had 
sprung up between the eccentric old gentleman and 
his volatile assistant. Willie sympathized so fully 
with his master in his wild schemes, and displayed 
withal such an aptitude for mechanical, contrivance, 
and such a ready appreciation of complex theories, 
that Mr. Tippet soon came to forget his extreme 
youth, and to converse with him, propound schemes 
and new ideas to him, and even to ask his advice, 

244 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


245 


with as much seriousness as though he had been a 
full-grown man. 

This was of course very gratifying to Willie, who 
repaid his master’s condescension and kindness by 
devoting himself heart and soul to the duties of what 
he styled his “ profession.” He was a good deal put 
out when his brother Frank asked him one day what 
his ‘"profession” was, and resolving never again to 
be placed in such an awkward position of ignorance, 
asked his employer what was the name of his busi- 
ness, to which the employer replied that it had no 
particular name ; but, on being urged by his assis- 
tant to give it a name, he suggested that he might, if 
so disposed, style himself a polyartist, which, he 
explained, meant an artist of many occupations. 
Willie felt that this might be translated “jack-of- 
all-trades,” but on mature consideration he resolved 
to adopt it, in the belief that few people would under- 
stand what it meant, and that thereby he would be 
invested with a halo of mystery, which was, upon 
the whole, a gratifying reflection. 

Gradually, however, Willie was led to diverge 
from his employer to his brother Frank, in regard to 
whom Miss Tippet entertained the strongest feelings 
of admiration, because of his courageous conduct in 
saving Louisa Auberly. Willie pursued this theme 
all the more willingly that Emma appeared to be 
deeply interested in it. 


22 


246 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Emma Ward was very romantic in her nature *, 
yet she had a keen appreciation of the ludicrous^ 
which caused her to appear somewhat light-headed 
and giddy in the eyes of superficial observers; but she 
possessed an underlying earnestness of soul, which 
displayed itself in a thousand ways to those who 
had much intercourse with her. She was an ardent 
hero-worshipper ; and while Miss Tippet was her 
heroine, Frank Willders was, at that time, her beau 
idM of a hero, although she only knew him from 
description. 

Willie was still in the middle of a glowing 
account of a fire, in which Frank, and his friends 
Dale and Baxmore, were the chief actors ; and 
Emma was listening with heightened colour, parted 
lips, and sparkling eyes, when Matty Meriyon 
opened the door, and announced Mr. Tippet. 

That gentleman was still in the act of shaking 
his sister’s hands with both of his, and kissing her 
on both cheeks heartily, when Matty announced 
Miss Deemas. 

Matty, being Irish, allowed her soul to gush out too 
obviously in her tones ; so that her feelings towards 
the Eagle, though unexpressed, were discernible. 

Miss Deemas strode up to Miss Tippet, and 
pecked her on the right cheek, much as an eagle 
might peck a tender rabbit, which it could slay and 
devour if it chose, but which it preferred to spare 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


247 


for a time. She was immediately introduced to 
Mr. Tippet, whom she favoured with a stiff bow 
intended to express armed neutrality in the mean- 
time ; with a possibility, if not a, probability, of 
war in the future. The eccentric gentleman felt 
chilled, but ventured to express an opinion in 
regard to the weather, glancing for confirmation of 
the same towards the window, through which he 
naturally enough expected to see the sky ; but was 
baffled by only seeing the green Venetian blinds, 
which ruled off the opposite houses in narrow 
stripes. Before he had recovered himself to make 
any further observation, Miss Deemas had attempted, 
in a condescending way, to peck the cheek of Emma 
Ward ; but that young lady, feeling disinclined, so 
managed that she received the peck on her forehead. 

On Willie, Miss Deemas bestowed a glance of 
utter indifference, which Willie replied to witli a 
gaze of desperate defiance. 

Then Miss Deemas seated herself on the sofa, 
and asked her “ dear friend” how she did, and how 
she felt, and whether things in general were much 
as usual ; from which elevated region of generalities 
?he gradually descended into the more particular 
sphere of gossip and scandal. 

It is only just to Miss Tippet to say that the 
Eagle did not find her a congenial bird of prey in 
this region. On the contrary, she had to drag her 


248 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


unwilling friend down into it ; and as Miss Tippet 
was too conscientious and kind-hearted to agree 
with her in her sweeping censures and caustic 
observations and wilful misconstructions, it is diffi- 
cult to conceive wherein she (the Eagle) found 
pleasure in her society. Probably it was because 
she found in her one who would submit meekly to 
any amount of contradiction, and listen patiently to 
any amount of vituperative declamation. 

“ So it seems Mr. Auberly has disinherited and 
dismissed his son, my dear,” said Miss Deemas j 
smoothing her dress with both hands, as though she 
were about to lay Mr. Auberly in her lap, and 
analyse him. 

“ I ’m sorry to say that it is too true, Julia,” 
answered Miss Tippet with ° sigh. 

“ Ha ! it ’s so like one of these creatures,” said 
Miss Deemas, pursing her thin lips ; “ so domineering, 
so towering, in their pride of mere physical power.” 

Mr. Tippet glanced at the Eagle in surprise, not 
being able to understand to what sort of “ creatures” 
she made reference. 

“ Poor Frederick,” sighed Miss Tippet, “ I don’t 
know what he 11 do (ring the bell, Emma, darling) ; 
he ’s such a bold, high-spirited young man, and it ’a 
all owing to his determination to take to — to what ’s- 
’is-name as a profession (bring the tea, Matty). It ’a 
very sad.” 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


249 


“ That must be a new sort of profession” observed 
Miss Deemas pointedly. 

“ Oh ! I mean painting, you know. It ’s impos- 
sible to arrange one’s things in such very correct 
language, you know, dear J ulia ; you are really too 
- -oh 1 did you hear of Joe Corney, the what ’s-his — 
fireman’s visit to Mrs. Denman? To be sure you 
did ; I forgot it was in your house. It was such a 
funny account ; you heard of it, brother (ring the 
bell again, dear), didn’t you ?” 

Mr. Tippet, whose wonted vivacity was quite 
subdued by the freezing influence of the Eagle, said 
that he had not heard of it ; whereupon Miss Tip- 
pet said that she had heard of it, and so had Willie 
Willders, who had heard of it from his brother Frank, 
who had heard of it from Joe Corney himself; and 
then she attempted to relate the matter, but failed, 
and finally asked Willie to tell the story, which 
Willie did with much gusto ; looking at Miss Deemas 
all the time, and speaking in a very positive tone, 
as if he thought she was doubting every word he 
said, and was resolved to hurl it in her teeth, 
whether she chose to believe it or not. 

“ Capital ! ” exclaimed Mr. Tippet, laughing heart- 
ily, when Willie had concluded ; “ what an ener- 
getic old lady she must be ! Really, I must get 
introduced to her, and show her the self-acting fire- 
extinguisher I have just invented. You remember 
22 * 


250 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


it, Willie?” Willie nodded. “I’ve laid, it aside 
for some time ; but it is very nearly complete now. 
A little more work on it will finish it. My only 
difficulty in regard to it is, madam,” he addressed 
himself to Miss Deemas here, “that it is apt to 
burst, and I am uncertain whether or not to add a 
safety-valve to prevent such a catastrophe, or to 
make the metal so very strong, that nothing short 
of gunpowder would burst it ; but then, you see, 
that would make the whole affair too heavy. How- 
ever, these are only minor difficulties of detail, 
which a little thought will overcome.” 

Miss Deemas received all this with a sinister 
smile, and replied with the single word, “ Oh ! ” 
after which she turned immediately to Miss Tippet, 
and remarked that the weather had been unusually 
warm of late for the season of the year, which 
remark so exasperated Willie Willders that he 
turned with a face of crimson to Emma, and asked 
her if she didn’t feel a draught of cold air coming 
over her from somewhere, and whether she would 
not sit nearer the fire, and farther away from the 
window ! 

Willie meant this for an uncommonly severe cut ; 
for Miss Deemas sat at the end of the sofa, near the 
window ! 

Fortunately, at this point, Matty Merryon ushered 
in Loo Auberly, who was instantly enfolded in 


THE LONDON EIRE BRIGADE. 


251 


Miss Tippet’s amis, and thence transferred to 
Emma’s, in which she was led to the sofa, and 
gently deposited in the softest corner. 

“ Darling Loo !” exclaimed Miss Tippet, with tears 
in her eyes ; “ you look so thin and pale.” 

There could be no doubt on that point. Little 
Loo, as Emma styled her, was worn to a shadow by 
sickness, which had hitherto baffled the doctor’s 
skill. But she was a beautiful shadow ; such a 
sweet, gentle shadow, that one might feel thankful, 
rather than otherwise, to be haunted by it. 

“ Pray don’t mind me ; I’m too tired to speak to 
you yet ; just go on talking. I like to listen,” said 
Loo softly. 

With ready kindness, Miss Tippet at once sought 
to draw attention from the child, by reverting to 
Mrs. Denman ; and Matty created a little opportune 
confusion by stumbling into the room with the 
tea. 

Matty usually tripped over the carpet at the door, 
and never seemed to become wiser from experience. 

“ Poor Mrs. Denman,” said Miss Tippet, pouring 
out the tea ; “ it must have been an awful shock ; 
think of a (Sugar, brother? I always forget), what 
was I — oh yes ; think of a fireman seizing one 
round the (Cream, Willie ? I know you have a sweet 
tooth, so I don’t need to ask if you take sugar). 
Yes, he carried her down that dreadful what- d’ye- 


252 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


call-it, and into the next house with nothing (A 
little more sugar, Julia ?— No) — nothing on but her 
what ’s-’is-name. Oh ! it was sad ; sad to lose 
all her fine things too — her furniture, and — and 
thingumies. — Do try a piece of cake, brother.” 

“ I know a worse case than hers,” said Willie 
with a knowing look. 

“ Do you ?” exclaimed Miss Tippet. 

“ Oh ! do tell it,” cried Emma earnestly ; “ he ’s 
just been telling it to me, and it is so sad and inter-' 
esting” 

“ Come, let ’s hear about it, lad,” said Mr. Tip- 
pet. 

Thus encouraged, Willie related his adventure 
with the clowns family, and told his tale with such 
genuine feeling, that Miss Tippet, Loo, and Emma 
found their eyes moist when he had concluded. 

There was a good deal of comment upon this sub- 
ject, and Miss Deemas animadverted very strongly 
upon actors in general and clowns in particular. As 
to ballet- girls, she could not find words to express 
her contempt for them ; but in reference to this 
Miss Tippet ventured to, rebuke her friend, and to 
say that although she could not and would not 
defend the position of these unfortunates, yet she 
felt that they were very much to be pitied, seeing 
that they were in many cases trained to their pecu- 
liarly indelicate life by their parents, and had been 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


253 


fcaught to regard ballet- dancing as quite a propel 
and legitimate what ’s-its-name. No doubt this was 
only a palliation of the life they led, but she thought 
that if any one was to be severely blamed in the 
matter it was the people who went to witness and 
encourage such wicked displays. 

Miss Deemas dissented generally from all her 
friend’s observations, and, wishing to change the 
subject, asked Loo if her father was coming to fetch 
her home. 

“ No,” said Loo ; “ dear papa is not well to-night, 
but he is to send the carriage for me. * Oh, I wish,” 
she continued, reverting to the previous subject, f< I 
ivish I could do something for these poor people. 
I ’m so very, very sorry for the fairy.” 

“ So you can, if you choose,” said Miss Deemas 
sharply. 

“ No, indeed I cannot,” replied Loo in an earnest 
voice ; “Pm too ill and weak now to be of any use 
to any one. Once I was useful to dear papa, but 
ever since the fire I have not been of use to any- 
body ; only a hindrance to them. Since I have 
been ill I have thought much more about what I 
read in the Bible, and I ’ve had a great desire to do 
good in some way or other, but how can I— so weak 
and helpless ?” 

Loo almost sobbed, for her sympathies had been 
awakened by Willie, and a chord had been touched 


254 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


which had been vibrating in her breast for some 
weeks past. 

“ Your father is rich, is he not ?” asked the 
Eagle. 

“ Yes, I believe so/' 

“ Well, a word to him may be the cause of much 
good, in the shape of money at least, to people in 
distress ; but rich people don’t always like to spend 
their money in that way.” 

Loo hung down her head and made no reply, for 
she knew that her father did not like to part with 
money. She had often heard him refuse to do so 
in days gone by, even when very pathetic appeals 
(as she thought) were made to him ; and experience 
told her that it was in vain to look for help in that 
quarter. 

The party was now increased by the arrival of 
Frederick Auberly, who at once infused life into 
everybody, except Miss Deemas, who had life enough 
of her own, and would by no means accept the loan 
of any from any one else. Fred therefore ignored 
her altogether, and told stories and cracked jokes 
and sang songs as if no such female iceberg were 
present. 

Poor Loo was overjoyed to see him, and laying 
her head on his breast, bade him speak away «*nd 
not ask questions ; only speak, apd allow her to 
Usfep apd rest. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


255 


Fred obeyed, and at once began an earnest dis- 
cussion with Willie as to the best method of getting 
a stout gentleman out of a third-floor window in case 
of fire, when Matty Merryon entered with a flushed 
face and said that a fireman who would not give his 
name wished to see Willie Willders for a minute ; 
and she was inclined to think it was his brother. 

“ What ! Frank ?” exclaimed Willie, rising to go 
down -stairs. 

/‘ Stay, Willie,” cried Miss Tippet eagerly ; “ don’t 
go down. Pray let me have him up ; I should so 
like to see him, and I’m sure so would Loo; the 
man, you know, who went up the what ’s-its-name, 
and brought you — yes, send him up, Matty.” 

" Plazej mim, he won’t come,” replied the girl ; “ I 
know’d ye would like to see him, an’ axed him in.” 

“Tell him,” said Miss Tippet, “ that I request it 
as a favour.” 

While Matty was delivering this message, the 
Eagle took occasion to sniff once or twice in a oon 
temptuous manner, and wondered why people wor 
shipped men just because they happened to br. big, 
and what they called handsome. For her part she 
hated all men, but if she were to be obliged to choose 
between any class (which she was thankful to say 
was not necessary in her case), she would certainly 
give the preference to ugly men and small. 

Willie Willders nodded his head approvingly. 


256 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


and, being exasperated into a savage serio-comic 
condition, as well by the Eagle’s voice and aspect as 
by her sentiments, he said that she was quite right, 
and that ii he were a lady like her he would hold 
the same opinions, because then, said he, “ being 
stout, I could wallop my husband an’ keep him 
down, an’ the contrast of his ugly face with mine 
would not be so obvious” 

Frank’s step on the stair fortunately prevented 
this open aild desperate attack being noticed. Next 
moment all turned their eyes in breathless expecta- 
tion towards the door. 

Being on duty, Frank appeared in fireman’s cos- 
tume, with the sailor-like undress cap in his hand. 
He bowed to the company, and apologized to Miss 
Tippet for intruding, but he had wished to ask his 
brother Willie to call at the fire-station on his way 
home to convey a letter to his mother, and merely 
meant to see him at the door. 

“ I ’m very glad you came, Mr. Willders,” said 
Miss Tippet, “ for I assure you we all regard you 
as the preserver of our dear Miss Auberly’s life, 
when you went up the — the — thing. Here she is. 
You must shaken — that’s it — so nice !” 

The last part of Miss Tippet’s remark referred to 
Loo stretching out her hand to Frank, who advanced 
promptly and shook it with great tenderness. He 
then shook hands with Fred, who expressed his 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


257 


regard for him in warm terms ; also with Mr. 
Tippet, who paid him some enthusiastic compli 
ments, and said something to the effect that, the 
parent stem from which two such branches as he 
and Willie had grown must be a prime plant. 

As he turned from Mr. Tippet— who, being very 
short, appeared to he looking up at a steeple while 
he delivered this opinion— Frank’s eyes encoun- 
tered those of Emma Ward, who was gazing at him 
in such undisguised admiration, that, being a some- 
what bashful man, he felt a little confused, and 
dropt his eyes, figuratively, on the floor. Emma 
blushed scarlet with shame at being caught in this 
way, and thereafter became* rigidly grave and in- 
different. 

When Frank again raised his eyes— which, by the 
way, he did immediately — they encountered the 
eagle glance of Miss Deemas frowning defiance, on 
him, as being a. sort of type or pattern specimen of 
his highly objectionable race. Had Miss Deemas 
been a man (which would have gratified her more 
than she could have expressed) Frank could have 
met the frown with a smile of pity. As it was, 
he turned to the little eager countenance of Miss 
Tippet, and felt deeper respect than, ever for the 
sex ; thus showing that just as an exception proves 
a rule, so an unfavourable contrast strengthens a 
cause. 

r 23 


258 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ Pray sit down, Mr. Willders,” entreated Miss 
Tippet earnestly; “ I should like so much to hear 
how you did it from your own lips, and how you 
can possibly venture up such dreadful things, just 
like going up the outside of the Monument. Dear 
Loo, and you came down it too ; but, to be sure, 
your eyes were shut, which was as well, for you 
were only in your night — . Ah, well, yes, do sit 
down, Mr. Firem — Willders, I mean/’ 

Frank thanked her, but declined, on the ground 
that he was on duty, and that he feared he was 
doing wrong in even looking in on them for the few 
minutes he had stayed. “ Good-night, ma’am,” he 
continued, “good-night. You’ll call at the station 
on your way home, Willie ?” 

Willie said he would, and then all the company, 
excepting the Eagle, shook hands with the stalwart 
fireman, looking up at him as if he were a hero 
just returned from the proverbial “ hundred fights.” 
Even Emma Ward condescended to shake hands 
with him at parting. 

“ Perhaps you ’ll be in the middle of a fire this 
very night,” cried Tom Tippet, following him to the 
door. 

" It is quite possible,” said Frank, with a 
smile. 

Miss Deemas was heard to snort contemptuously 
at this. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


259 


“ Perhaps you may even save more lives V* cried 
Miss Tippet. 

“ It may be so,” answered Frank, again smiling, 
but evidently feeling anxious to make his escape, 
for he was not one of those men who like to be 
lionized. 

“ Only think ! ” exclaimed Miss Tippet, as Frank 
quitted the room. 

“ Ha ! ” ejaculated the Eagle, in a tone which 
was meant to convey her well-known opinion that 
women would do such things quite as well as men if 
their muscles were a little stronger. 

It is but justice to Miss Deemas to explain that 
she did not champion and exalt women out of love 
to her sex. Love was not one of her strong points. 
Eampant indignation against those whom she bitterly 
termed “ lords of creation ” was her strong tower of 
refuge, in which she habitually dwelt, and from the 
giddy summit of which she hurled would-be destruc- 
tion on the doomed males below. Among her various 
missiles she counted the “ wrongs of her sex ” the 
most telling shaft, and was in consequence always 
busy sharpening and polishing and flourishing this 
dread weapon in the eyes of her friends as well as 
her enemies, although, of course, she only launched 
it at the latter. 

Perched on her self-exalted eyry, Miss Deemas 
did not know that there was a pretty large number 


260 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


of her own sex in the comparatively humble mul- 
titude below, who, while they clearly recognised the 
" wrongs of women” (and preferred to call them 
“ misfortunes ”), did not attribute them solely, or 
even largely, to the wickedness of men, but to the 
combined wickedness and folly of society in general, 
and who were of opiniou that such matters were to 
be put right by patient, persevering, laborious, and 
persistent efforts on the part of men and women 
acting in concert, and not by the unwomanly acts 
and declamation of ladies of the Deemas stamp, 
whom they counted the worst enemies of the good 
cause— some wittingly, others unwittingly so. These 
people among the comparatively humble multitude 
below, also had the penetration to perceive that the 
so-called “ wrongs ” did not lie all on one side, but 
that there was a pretty large class of the so-called 
"lords” who went about the world habitually in a 
sad and disgraceful state of moral semi-nakedness, 
in consequence of their trousers having been appro- 
priated and put on by their better-halves, and that 
therefore it was only meet that men and women 
should be united (as indeed they were from the first 
intended to be) in their efforts to put each other's 
" wrongs ” to " rights.” 

In addition to all this, these weak-minded (shall 
we call them ?) people, moving in the comparatively 
humble multitude below, entertained the belief that 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


261 


rising in antagonism to the male sex in this matter 
was not only unnecessary and unjust and impolitic, 
but also ungenerous, for they reflected with much 
calm satisfaction that the “lords ’ 5 are, after all, 
“ under woman’s control.” 

But Miss Deemas and all the ladies of the Eagle 
stamp did not think so. They did not believe that 
a strong mind means a mind strong enough to exer- 
cise its own powers to the ascertainment and recep- 
tion of truth and the rejectign of falsehood and 
fallacy ; strong enough, under the influence of God’s 
love, to perceive the paths of duty in all their 
ramifications, and to resolve to follow them. They 
did not believe that a high spirit, in the true sense 
of the word, meant a spirit broken down altogether 
and brought into subjection to its owner’s, not 
another’s, will. By no means. A strong mind with 
the Deemas-eagles meant unutterable and unalter- 
able obstinacy, blind as a hat, with the great guns 
blazing all round, and the colours nailed to the mast. 
High spirit with them meant the inclination — ever 
present, always strong, and often asserted — to seize 
all the rest of the world, male and female, and lead 
it by the nose ! 

The Deemas-eagles as a class receive ready-made 
opinions, fabricated by some one else, and call them 
their own — receiving them originally and holding 
them subsequently, not because they are true, but 
23 * 


262 


FIGHTING THE FLAME& 


because they are pleasant to their eyes and sweet to 
their taste. They hold them stoutly too, probably 
because, having no foundation, they would be apt fo 
fall and get broken if not upheld. 

Having said thus much in behalf of the Deem as 
eagles, we now dismiss them, with an apology to the 
reader. 


CHAPTEK XXII. 


GIVES ANOTHER PHASE OF A FIREMAN’S LIFE, AND WINDS DP WITH 
A CRASH. 

The clocks were striking nine when Frank issued 
from Miss Tippet’s dwelling and walked briskly 
away. On turning a corner he came upon one of 
the numerous fire-escapes that nightly rear their 
tall heads against the houses all over London, in a 
somewhat rampant way, as though they knew of the 
fires that were about to take place, and, like mettle- 
some war-horses, were anxious to rush into action 
without delay. 

On the pavement, close by the escape, stood a 
small sentry-box, and the moment Frank came in 
sight of it he remembered that it was the nocturnal 
habitation of his friend conductor Samuel Forest. 
Sam himself was leaning his arms on the lower half 
of his divided door, and gazing contemplatively 
along the street. 

“ Well, Sam, what news ? " inquired Frank as he 

came up. 


264 


FIGHTIN 


JES : A TALE OF 


" That you, Willders ?’* said Sam, a quiet smile ol 
recognition playing on his good-humoured features. 
“ I thought it must be the giant they’re exhibitin’ 
in St. James’s Hall just now, takin’ a stroll at night 
to escape the boys. Why, when do you mean to 
stop growing ? ” 

“ I don’t mean to interfere with Nature at all,” 
replied Frank ; “ and I believe the world will be big 
enough to hold me whatever size I grow to.” 

“ Well, what ’s the news ?” inquired Sam, emerging 
from his narrow residence, and proving in the act, 
that, though not quite so tall as his friend, he was 
one who required a pretty fair share of room in the 
world for himself. 

“ Nothing particular,” said Frank, leaning against 
the escape ; “ only a chimney and a cut-away affair 
last night, and a false alarm and a first-floor burnt 
out the day before.” 

“ How ’s Thompson ? ” asked Forest. 

“ Poorly, I fear,” said Frank, with a shake of his 
head. " The sprained ankle he got when he fell off 
the folding-board is getting well, but the injury to 
his spine from the engine is more serious.” 

“ Ah, poor fellow ! ” said Forest, “ he ’s just a 
little too reckless. How came he by the sprain ?” 

“ It was in the basement of a bookbinder’s in 
Littleton Street,” said Frank, lighting a cigar. “We 
got the call about 1 1 P.M., and on getting there found 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


265 


three engines at work. Mr. Braidwood ordered our 
fellows to go down into the basement. It was very 
dark, and so thick of smoke that I couldn’t see half- 
an-incli before my nose. We broke through the 
windows, and found ourselves ankle- deep in water. 
The engines had been at work flooding the place for 
some time, and there was more water than we 
expected ; but we had got on the folding-boards 
without knowing it, an’ before we knew where we 
were, down went Thompson into water four feet 
deep. I think myself some of the water-pipes had 
burst. He rose gasping, and I caught him by the 
collar and hauled him out. It was in trying to 
recover himself when he fell that he got the sprain. 
You’ve heard how he came by the other mishap ?” 

“ Yes ; it was gallopin’ down Ludgate Hill, 
wasn’t it ?”. 

“ Ay ; the engine went over a barrow, and the 
jolt threw him off, and before he got up it was on 
him. By good fortune it did not go over him ; it 
only bruised his back ; but it ’s worse than we 
thought it would be, I fear.” 

w Ah! one never knows,” said Forest gravely. 
“There’s one man Jackson, now, only two weeks 
ago he was up in a third floor in Lambeth, and had 
brought down two women and a child, and was in 
the back-rooms groping for more, when the floor 
above gave way and came down on him. We alJ 


206 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


thought he was done for, but some of the beams had 
got jammed, and not five minutes after he steps out 
of a window all right — only a scratch or two, not 
worth mentioning ; yet that same man fell down a 
flight of stairs at the same fire, with a boy on his 
shoulder, and sprained his ankle so bad that he’s 
bin laid up for three weeks; but he saved the 
boy.” 

“ Ah ! it was worth the sprain,” said Frank. 

“ It was,” responded Forest. 

"Well, good-night,” said Frank, resuming his 
walk. 

Samuel Forest responded “ good- night,” and then, 
getting into his box, sat down on its little seat, 
which was warranted not to hold two, trimmed the 
lamp that hung at his side ; and, pulling out a book 
from a comer, began to peruse it. 

Sam was of a literary turn of mind. He read a 
great deal during his lonely watches, and used often 
to say that some of his happiest hours were those 
spent in the dead of night in his sentry-box. His 
helmet hung on a peg beside him. His hatchet was 
in his girdle, and a small cap covered his head. 
Look ing at him in his snug and brightly illuminated 
little apartment, he appeared — by contrast with the 
surrounding darkness — inexpressibly comfortable. 
Nevertheless, Sam Forest could have told you that 
appearances are often deceptive, and that, no inatteT 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


267 


hojv it looked, liis box was but a cold habitation on 
a biting December night. 

While deeply immersed in his book, Sam heard 
the sound of approaching footsteps, and pricked up 
his ears. He was a good judge of such sounds. 
As they drew near, he quietly took off his cap, put 
on his helmet, and stepped from his box. The 
street was very silent ; and, perhaps, not one of the 
hundreds of sleepers, there, thought of the solitary 
man who held vigil, and was so alert to do them 
service, if the hour of their extremity should come. 

But a cry arose that startled them — 

“ Fire ! fire ! ! ” 

Another moment, and two men dashed round the 
corner, yelling at the top of their voices. Gasping 
for breath they named the locality. Almost before 
they had done so, two policemen were on the spot, 
and in another moment the fire-escape was in motion. 
Instructed by the conductor, the two strangers and 
the policemen lent their willing aid. Before ten 
minutes had passed, the tall machine was run up to 
a burning house, the lower part of which was blaz- 
ing; while, from the upper windows, frantic cries 
were heard for help> and sundry figures in dishabille 
were seen waving their arms. The escape was run 
up, and one after another the inmates were rescued 
from their perilous position. 

While this scene was enacting Frank was pursu- 


268 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE Of 


ing his way to the Regent Street Fire Station ; hut 
news of the fire got there before him. He arrived 
just in time to don his helmet and take his place 
on the engine. Away they went, and in ten minutes 
after the arrival of the fire-escape, they dashed up, 
almost running into an engine which appeared from 
an opposite direction. 

The fir6 was blazing brightly by this time, and 
the whole neighbourhood was in a state of commo- 
tion and excitement. 

The two engines were got to work with as little 
delay as possible. A body of police kept the 
gathering crowd back, and soon volumes of steam 
began to mingle with the black smoke of the burn- 
ing building. The superintendent was early on the 
scene, and he directed Frank and another fireman to 
try to persuade the people in the adjoining houses 
to remain quiet, and not throw their furniture over 
the window ; but this, some of them would not 
consent to do. It was plain that one or two were 
mad with fear and excitement; and as the ruling 
passion is strong in death, so it would seem to be 
by no means weak in the midst of danger from fire ; 
for many of them bent their whole energies to the 
saving of their goods and chattels — regardless of 
their lives ! 

One stout old gentleman, in particular, was seen 
at a third-floor window, heaving out chairs and 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


269 


stools, and books, and small tables, and clocks, and 
even quantities of crockery, with desperate energy, 
to the great danger of the onlookers, at whose feet 
the various articles fell, and were dashed to atoms ! 

Frank darted up the stair that led to this man’s 
apartments,- and burst in upon him. 

“ Oh ! come along, fireman ; help me to save my 
things,” he exclaimed, as he struggled with super- 
human efforts to thrust a table through the window, 
which was too small to permit its passage. 

“ Stop, sir, are you mad ! ” cried Frank sternly. 

“ Help me ! help me ! Oh ! fireman, it will be 
all burned. Fire ! fire ! ! fire ! ! !” 

His voice rose into a fierce yell, as he strove in 
vain with the table. 

“You’re quite safe,” cried Frank, holding him; 
u your house ain’t alight, and the engines have got it 
almost under.” 

But Frank spoke to deaf. ears; so he coolly lifted 
the man in his arms, carried him kicking down 
stairs, and placed him in charge of a policeman. 

Just then, a cry was raised that there were two 
kegs of gunpowder in one of the shops on the 
ground floor. The owner of the shop came up in 
a frantic state, and corroborated this statement. 

“ It’ll blow the house to bits, sir,” he said to Mr. 
Braidwood. 

“ Of course it will,” remarked the latter in a quiet 
24 


270 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


voice. “ Come here, my man,” he added, taking the 
shopkeeper apart from the crowd, and questioning 
him closely. 

Immediately after, he ordered the engines to play 
on a particular part of the building. 

Just then, Frank came up to the superintendent. 

“ There ’s gunpowder in the back shop somewhere, 
1 ’m told, sir ; shall I go in for it ?” 

“ No, Willders ; ye couldn’t find it in the smoke. 
Take the branch, lad, and get up into that window 
above the door.” 

Frank sprang to obey. At the same time, Mr. 
Braidwood suddenly seized a horse- cloth, and dashed 
in through the smoke. In a few seconds, he 
returned with one of the kegs of powder in his 
arms. Giving it to one of his men, he darted in 
again, and speedily re-issued with the second keg of 
powder, amid the frantic cheering of the crowd. 
Having done this, he continued to superintend the 
men until the fire was got under, which was soon 
accomplished, having been attacked promptly and 
with great vigour soon after it broke out. 

“You needn’t wait, Mr. Dale,” said Braidwood, 
going up to his foreman. “ It ’s all safe now. I ’ll 
keep one engine ; but you and your lads get off to 
your beds as fast as ye can.” 

Dale obeyed, and a few minutes after, the engine 
was galloping homewards. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


271 


Willie Willders was in the station when it 
arrived, and so was Fred Auberly who having ac- 
companied Willie had got into such an interesting 
talk with the sub-engineer in charge, that he forgot 
time, and was still in animated conversation when 
the wheels were heard in the distance. 

The three were out at the door in an instant. 

On came the engine, the horses’ feet and the 
wheels crashing harshly in the silent night. They 
came round the corner with a sharp swing. Either 
the driver had become careless, or he was very 
sleepy that night, for he dashed against an iron 
post that stood at the corner, and carried off two 
wheels. The engine went full thirty yards on the 
two off- wheels, before it came to the ground, which 
it did at last with a terrible crash, throwing the 
firemen violently to the ground. 

The sub-engineer and Fred and Willie sprang 
forward in great alarm ; but the most of the men 
leaped up at once, and one or two of them laughed, 
as if to show that they had got no damage. But 
one of them lay extended on the pavement. It 
needed not a second glance to tell that it was 
Frank Willders. 

“ Lift him gently, lads,” said Dale, who was him- 
self severely bruised. 

“ Stop,” exclaimed Frank in a low voice ; “ I ’ve 
got no harm except to my left leg. It ’s broken, I 


272 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


think. There's no use of lifting me till you get a 
cab. I '11 go straight home, if — " 

He fainted as he spoke. 

“ Run for a cab, Willie,” said Fred Auberly. 
Willie was off in a moment. At the same 
instant, a messenger was despatched for Dr. Offley, 
and in a short time after that, FranK Willders was 
lying on his mother’s sofa, with his left leg broken 
below the knee. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

or totfdCH MR. JAMES AUBERLT COMES OUT IN SEVERAL ENTIRELY NEW 
CHARACTERS. 

With a very stiff cravat, and a dreadfully stiff 
back, and a painfully stiff aspect, Mr. James Auberly 
sat by the side of a couch and nursed his sick child. 

Stiff and starched and stern though he was, Mr. 
Auberly had a soft point in his nature, and this 
point had been reached at last ; for through all the 
stiffness and starch there shone on his countenance 
an expression of deep anxiety as he gazed at Loo’s 
emaciated form. 

Mr. Auberly performed the duties of a nurse 
awkwardly enough, not being accustomed to such 
work, but he did them with care and with an evident 
effort to please, which made a deep impression on 
the child’s heart. 

“ Dear papa,” she said, after he had given her a 
drink and arranged her coverings, "I want you to 
do me a favour.” She said this timidly, for she 
knew from past experience that her father was not 
s 24* 


13 74 FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 

fond of granting favours, but since her illness he 
had been so kind to her that she felt emboldened tn 
make her request. 

“ I will do it, dear,” said the stiff man, bending, 
morally as well as physically, as he had never bent 
before — for the prospect of Loo’s death had been 
presented to him by the physicians. “ I will do it, 
dear, if I can, and if the request be reasonable.” 

“ Oh then, do forgive Fred, and let him be an 
artist !” cried Loo, eagerly stretching out one of her 
thin hands. 

“ Hush, darling,” said Mr. Auberly with a look of 
distress ; “ ypu must not excite yourself so. I have 
forgiven Fred long ago, and he has become an artist 
in spite of my objections.” 

“ Yes, but let him come home, I mean, and be 
happy with us again as he used to be, and go to the 
office with you,” said Loo. 

Mr. Auberly replied somewhat coldly to this that 
Fred was welcome to return home if he chose, but 
that his place in the office had been filled up. Besides, 
it was impossible for him to be both a painter 
and a man of business, he said, and added that Loo 
had better not talk about such things, because she 
did not understand them. All he could say was 
that he was willing to receive Fred if Fred was 
willing to return. He did not say, however, that lie 
was willing to restore Fred to his former position 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


270 


in regard to his fortune, and as Loo knew nothing 
about her brother having been disinherited, she felt 
that she must be satisfied with this cold concession. 

“ Can you not ask some other favour, such as I 
could grant V ’ said Mr. Auberly, with a smile, which 
was not nearly so grim as it used to be before the 
“ fire.” (The family always talked of the burning of 
Mr. Auberly’s house as “ the fire,” to the utter repu- 
diation of all other fires — the great one of monu- 
mental fame included.) 

Loo meditated some time before replying. 

“ Oh yes,” she exclaimed suddenly, “ I have an- 
other favour to ask. How stupid of me to forget it ! I 
want you very much to go and see a fairy that lives — ” 
“ A fairy, Loo !” said Mr. Auberly, while a shade 
of anxiety crossed his face. “ You— you are rather 
weak just now ; I must make you be quiet, and try 
to sleep if you talk nonsense, dear.” 

“ It ’s not nonsense,” said Loo, again stretching out 
the thin hand, which her father grasped, replaced 
under the coverings, and held there ; " it ’s quite true, 
papa,” she continued energetically ; “ it is a fairy I 
want you to go and see — she ’s a pantomime fairy, 
and lives somewhere near London Bridge, and she ’s 
been very ill, and is so poor that they say she’s 
dying for want of good food.” 

“ Who told you about her, Loo ?* 
u Willie Willders,” she replied ; “ he has been to 


276 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


see her and her father the clown a good many 
times.” 

Mr. Auberly frowned, for the name of Willie 
Willders did not sound pleasantly in his ears. 

" Do go to see her, pray, dear papa,” pleaded Loo 
with much earnestness, “ and give her some money 
You know that darling mamma said, just before she 
was taken away” (the poor child persistently refused 
to use the expression “ when she died”), “she wanted 
you to take me sometimes to see poor people when 
they were sick, and I Ve often thought of that since 
-—especially when I have come to the verse in my 
Bible which tells me to ‘ consider the poor,’ and I 
have often — oh, so very often — longed to go, but you 
were always so busy, dear papa, that you never had 
time, you know” (the stiff man winced a little at 
this) ; “ but you seem to have more time now, papa, 
and although I ’m too weak to go with you, I thought 
I would ask you to go to see this poor fairy, and tell 
her I will go to see her some day — if — if God makes 
me strong again.” 

The stiff man winced still more at this, but it was 
only a momentary wince, such as a man gives when 
he gets a sudden and severe twinge of toothache. It 
instantly passed away. Still, as in the case of tooth- 
ache, it left behind an uneasy impression that there 
might be something very sharp and difficult to bear 
looming in the not distant future. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


277 


Mr. Auberly had covered his face with his hand, 
aiid leant his elbow on the head of the couch. 
Looking up quickly with a smile — still tinged with 
griruness, for evil habits and their results are not to 
be got rid of in a day — he said — 

“ Well, Loo, I will go to see this fairy if it will 
please you; but somewhere near London Bridge is 
not a very definite address.” 

“ Oh, but Willie Willders knows it,” said Loo. 

“But where is WBlie Willders?” objected her 
father. 

“Perhaps at home; perhaps at Mr. Tippet’s 
place.” 

“ Well, we shall soon find out,” said Mr. Auberly, 
rising and ringing the belL 

Hopkins answered the summons. 

Stiff, thin, taU, sedate, powdered, superfine Hop- 
kins, how different from the personage we saw but 
lately plunging like a maniac at the fire- bell ! Could 
it have been thee, Hopkins? Is it possible that 
anything so spruce, dignified, almost stately, could 
have fallen so very low? We fear it is too true, for 
human nature not unfrequently furnishes instances 
of tremendous contrast, just as material nature some- 
times furnishes the spectacle of the serene summer 
sky being engulfed in the black thunderstorm ! 

“ Hopkins,” said Mr. Auberly, handing him a slip 
of paper, “ go to this address and ask for the boy 


278 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


William Willders ; if he is there, bring him here 
immediately ; if not, find out where he is, search for 
him and bring him here without delay. Take a cab.’’ 

Hopkins folded the paper delicately, with both 
his little fingers projecting very much, as though 
they wished it to be distinctly understood that they 
had no connexion whatever with the others, and 
would not on any account assist the low-born and 
hard-working forefingers and thumbs in such menial 
employment. Hopkins’s nose appeared to be affected 
with something of the same spirit. Then Hopkins 
bowed— that is to say, he broke Across suddenly at 
the middle, causing his stiff upper man to form an 
obtuse angle with his rigid legs for one moment, 
recovered his perpendicular, — and retired. 

Oh ! Hopkins, how difficult to believe that thy 
back was once as round as a hoop and thy legs bent 
at acute angles while thou didst lay violent hands 
on — well, well ; let bygones be bygones, and let us, 
all in kindness to thee, learn the song which says — 
“ Teach, 0 teach me to forget.” 

Hailing a cab with the air of six emperors rolled 
into one, Hopkins drove to Mr. Tippet’s residence, 
where he learned that Willie had gone home, so he 
followed him up, and soon found himself at Notting- 
hill before the door of Mrs. Willders’ humble abode. 
The door was opened by Willie himself, who stared 
in some surprise at the stately visitor. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


279 


“ Is William Willders at We ?” said Hopkins. 

“ I rather think he is,” replied Willie, with a grin ; 
‘ who shall I say .calls on him — eh ? You better 
send up your card.” 

Hopkins frowned, but, being a good-natured man, 
lie immediately smiled, and said he would walk in. 

“ I think,” said Willie, interposing his small 
person in the way, “ that you ’d as well stop where 
you are, for there ,’s a invalid in the drawing-room, 
and all the other rooms is engaged ’cept the kitchen, 
which of course I could not show you into. Couldn’t 
you deliver your message ? I could manage to carry 
it if it ain’t too heavy.” 

In a state of uncertainty as to how far this was 
consistent with his dignity, Hopkins hesitated for a 
moment, but at length delivered his message, with 
which Willie returned to the parlour. 

Here, on the little sofa, lay the tall form of 
Frank Willders, arrayed in an old dressing-gown, 
and with one of his legs bandaged up and motion- 
less. His face was pale, and he was suffering great 
pain, but a free-and-easy smile was on his lips, for 
beside him sat a lady and a young girl, the lattei of 
whom was afflicted with strong sympathy, but ap- 
peared afraid to show it. Mrs. Willders, with a 
stocking and knitting- wires in her hands, sat on a 
chair at the head of the bed, looking anxious, but 
hopeful and mild. An open Bible which lay on a 


280 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TAIjE OF 


small table at her side showed how she had been 
engaged before the visitors entered. 

“ My good sir,” said the lady, >Vith much earnest- 
ness of voice and manner, “ I assure you it grieves 
me to the heart to see you lying in this state, and 
1 ’m quite sure it grieves Emma too, and all your 
friends. When I think of the risks you run and the 
way you dash up these dreadful fire — fire — things — 
what-d’ ye-callums. What do you call them ?” 

" Eire- escapes, ma’am,” answered Frank, with a 
smile. 

“ Ah, fire-escapes (how you ever come down them 
alive is a mystery to me, I ’m sure !) But, as I was 
saying, it makes one shudder to think of ; and — and 
— how does your leg feel now V* said Miss Tippet, 
forgetting what she had intended to say. 

“ Pretty well,” replied Frank ; “ the doctor tells 
me it has broken without splintering, and that I ’ll 
be all right in a few weeks, and fit for duty again.” 

“ Fit for duty, young man ! ” exclaimed Miss 
Tippet ; “ do you mean to say that you will return 
to your dreadful profession when you recover ? 
Have you not received warning enough ?” 

“ Why, madam,” said Frank, “ some one must 
look after the fires, you know, else London w< uld 
be in ashes in a few months ; and I like the 
work.” 

" Like the work !” cried Miss Tippet, in amaze- 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


131 

ment ; “ like to be almost smoked to death, and 
burned alive, and tumbled off roofs, and get upset 
off what Vits-names, and fall down fire — fire — 
things, and break all your legs and arms !” 

“ Well — no, I don’t like all that,” said Frank, 
laughing ; “ but I like the vigour and energy that 
are called forth in the work, and I like the object 
of the work, which is to save life and property. — 
Why,” exclaimed Frank enthusiastically, “it has 
all the danger and excitement of a soldier’s life 
without the bloody work, and with better ends in 
view.” 

“ Nay, nay, Frank,” said the peaceful Mrs. Win- 
ders, “you must not say ‘better ends,’ because it 
is a great and glorious thing to defend one’s native 
land.” 

“A very just observation* said Miss Tippet, 
nodding approval. 

“ Why, mother, who would have expected to hear 
you standing up for the red-coats in this fashion?* 
said Frank. 

“ I stand up for the blue -jackets too,” observed 
Mrs. Willders meekly ; “ they fight for their country 
as well.” 

“True, mother,” rejoined Frank; “but I did not 
refer to ultimate ends, I only thought of the imme- 
diate results in connexion with those engaged. The 
warrior fights, and, in so doing, destroys life and 

25 


282 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


property. The fireman fights, and in doing so pro- 
tects and preserves both.” 

“ Hear ! hear !” interrupted Willie ; “ but the 
copy-book says * Comparisons are odious V don't it ? 
Mother, here’s a fathom and two inches or so cf 
humanity as wants me to go with him to Mr. 
Auberly. I s’pose Frank can get along without me 
for a little while — eh ?” 

“ Certainly, my son ; why does he want you ?” 

“ Don’t know. Pr’aps he ’s goin’ to offer to 
make me his secretary. But you don’t seem at 
all alarmed at the prospect of my being carried off 
by a flunkey.” 

“ You ’ll come back, dearie, I doubt not.” 

“ Don’t you ? Oh, very well ; then I ’ll just look 
after myself. If I don’t return, I ’ll advertise my- 
self in the Times. Good-bye.” 

Willie returned to the door and announced that 
he was ready to go. 

“But where is William?” asked Hopkins. 

“ Mister William Willders stands before you,” said 
the boy, placing his hand on his heart and making 
a bow. “ Come now, Long-legs,” he added, seizing 
Hopkins by the arm and pushing him down-stairs 
and into the cab. Leaping in after him he shut the 
door with a bang. “ Now, then, cabby, all right, 
Beverly Square, full split ; sixpence extra if you do 
it within the half 1” 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE, 


283 


Away they went, and in a few seconds were in 
the Mall driving at a rattling pace. 

“ See that house?” asked Willie, so suddenly as 
to startle Hopkins, who was quite overwhelmed by 
the vigour and energy of his young companion. 

“ Eh ! which ! the one with the porch before the 
door ?” 

“No, no, stoopid ! the old red brick house with 
the limbs of a vine all over the front of it, and the 
skeleton of a Virginia creeper on the wall.” 

“ Yes, I see it,” said Hopkins, looking out. 

“ Ah, a friend o’ mine lives there. I ’m on wisitin' 
terms there, I am. Now then, mind your eye, 
pump-handle,” cried Willie; “the turn’s rather 
sharp — hallo !” 

As they swung round into the Bayswater Road 
the cab came in contact with a butcher’s cart, which, 
being the lighter vehicle, was nearly upset. No 
serious damage resulted however, and soon after 
they drew up at the door of the house next Mr. 
Auberly’s ; for that gentleman still occupied the 
residence of his friend. 

“Master Willders,” said Hopkins, ushering him 
into the presence of Mr. Auberly, who still sat at 
the head of the couch. 

Willie nodded to Loo and then to her father. 

“ Boy,” said the latter, beckoning Willie to ap- 
proach, “ my daughter wishes me to go and visit a 


284 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES * A TALE OF 


poor family near London Bridge. She tells me you 
know their name and address.” 

“ The fairy, you know,” said Loo, explaining. 

“ Ah, the Cattleys,” answered Willie. 

“Yes,” resumed Mr. Auberly. “Will you con- 
duct me to their abode !” 

In some surprise Willie said that he would be 
happy to do so, and then asked Loo how she did. 

While Mr. Auberly was getting ready, Willie was 
permitted to converse with Loo and Mrs. Rose, who 
was summoned to attend her young mistress. Pre 
sently Mr. Auberly returned, bade Mrs. Rose be 
very careful of the invalid, and then set off with 
Willie. 

At first the boy felt somewhat awed by the remark- 
ably upright figure that stalked in silence at his 

side, but as they continued to thread their way 

#• 

through the streets he ventured to attempt a little 
conversation. 

“ Weather ’s improvin’, sir,” said Willie, looking up. 

“It is,” replied Mr. Auberly, looking down in 
surprise at the boldness of his small guide. 

“ Good for the country, sir,” observed Willie. 

Mr. Auberly being utterly ignorant of rural mat- 
ters thought it best to say nothing to this. 

We may add that Willie knew just as little (or 
as much), and had only ventured the remark be- 
cause he had often heard it made in every possible 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


285 


variety of weather, and thought that it would be a 
safe observation, replete, for all he knew to the con- 
trary, with hidden wisdom. 

There was silence after this for some time. 

“ D’ you know Mr. Tippet well, sir .?” inquired 
Willie suddenly. 

Ye ; — yes ; oh yes, I know him pretty well.” 

“ Ah, he ’s a first-rater,” observed Willie, with a 
look of enthusiasm ; “ you Ve no notion what a 
trump he is. Did you ever hear of his noo machine 
for makin’ artificial butter ?” 

“ No,” said Mr. Auberly, somewhat impatiently. 

" Ah, it ’s a wonderful invention, that is, sir.” 

“ Boy,” said Mr. Auberly, “ will you be so good as 
to walk behind me ?” 

“ Oh, cernly, sir,” said Willie, with a profound bow, 
•is he fell to the rear. 

They walked on in silence until they came to the 
vicinity of the Monument, when Mr. Auberly turned 
round and asked Willie which way they were to go 
now. 

“ Bight back again,” said Willie. 

“ How, boy ; what do you mean ?” 

“ We Ve overshot the mark about half a mile, sir. 
But, please, I thought you must be wishin’ to go 
somewhere else first, as you led the way.” 

“ Lead the way, now , boy,” said Mr. Auberly, with 
a stern look. 


25 * 


286 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Willie obeyed, and in a few minutes they were 
groping in the dark regions underground which Mr. 
Cattley and his family inhabited. With some diffi- 
culty they found the door, and stood in the presence 
of “ the fairy.” 

Thin' though the fairy had been when Willie saw 
her last, she might have been called fat compared 
with the condition in which they now found her. 
She appeared like a mere shadow, with a delicate 
skin thrown over it. A bad transparency would 
have been more substantial in appearance. She lay 
alone on her lonely pallet with a farthing candle 
beside her, which cast a light sufficient only to make 
darkness visible. Being near the poor invalid, it 
caused her large dark eyes to glitter in an awful 
manner. 

Willie at once forgot his companion, and running 
up to the fairy, seized her hand, and asked her how 
she did. 

" Pretty well, Willie. It ’s kind of you to come 
and see me so often/’ 

“Not a bit, Ziza; you know I like it; besides, 
I ’ve only come to-day to show a gentleman the 
way.” 

He pointed to Mr. Auberly, who had stopped 
short in the doorway, but who now advanced and 
sat down beside the invalid, and put to her several 
formal questions in a very stately and stiff' manner, 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


287 


with a great assumption of patronage. But it was 
evident that he was not accustomed to the duty of 
visiting the sick, and, like little boys and girls when 
they sit down to write a letter, was very much at a 
loss what to say ! He began by asking the fairy 
about her complaint, and exhausted every point that 
entered into his imagination in reference to that. 
Then he questioned her as to her circumstances ; 
after which he told her that he had been sent to see 
her by his daughter Louisa, who was herself very ill, 
owing to the effects of a fire in his own house. 

At this point the child became interested, and 
came to his relief by asking a great many eager and 
earnest questions about Loo. She knew about the 
fire* in Beverly Square and its incidents, Willie 
having often related them to her during his visits ; 
and she knew Mr. Auberly by name, and was in- 
terested in him, but his frigid manner had repelled 
her, until he spoke of Loo having sent him to see 
her. 

“ Oh, I Ve been so sorry about Miss Loo, sir,” said 
Ziza, raising her large eyes full in Mr. Auberly’s 
face ; “ I Ve heard of her, you know, from Willie, 
and when I Ve been lying all alone here for hours 
and hours together, I have wondered how she spent 
her time, and if there were kind people about her to 
keep up her spirits. It ’s so strange that she and I 
should have been both hurt by a fire, an’ both of ua 


288 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


so different every way. I do hope she 'll get better, 
sir.” 

Mr. Auberly became suddenly much interested in 
the fairy, for just as “love begets love,” so does 
interest beget interest. His feelings having been 
roused, his tongue was loosed, and forthwith he 
enjoyed a delightful conversation with the intelli- 
gent child ; not that there was any remarkable change 
.is to the matter of what was spoken, but there was 
a vast change in the manner of speaking it. 

Willie also chimed in now and then, and volun- 
teered his opinions in a way +hat would have, called 
forth a sharp rebuke from his patron half-an-hour 
before ; but he was permitted to speak, even en- 
couraged, now, for Mr. Auberly was being tickled 
pleasantly ; he was having his feelings and affections 
roused in a way that he had never thought of or 
tried before ; he was gathering golden experiences 
that he had never stooped to touch before, although 
the mine had been under his feet all his life, and his 
path had been strewn with neglected nuggets from 
the cradle — fortunately not, as yet, to the grave ! 

Ziza’s Bible lay on the counterpane close to her 
wasted little hand. While she was talking of Loo, 
with deep sympathy beaming out of her eyes and 
trembling in her tones, Mr. Auberly laid his hand 
inadvertently on it. She observed the action, and 
said — 


THE LONDON FIRE .BRIGADE. 


289 


“ Are you going to read and pray with me, sir ?” 

Mr. Auberly was- taken very much aback indeed 
by this question. 

"Well— -no,” said he, " that is— if — in fact, I have 
not brought my prayer-book with me ; but — but — 
I will read to you if you wish it.” 

Sympathy was gone now ; the fairy felt that, and, 
not clearly understanding why, wondered at it. She 
thanked her visitor, however, and shut her eyes, 
while Mr. Auberly opened the Bible and cleared his 
voice. His confusion was only momentary ; , still 
the idea that he could be confused at all by two 
mere children in such a wretched cellar so nettled 
the worthy man, that he not only recovered his self- 
possession, but read a chapter with all the solemn 
dignity of tbne and manner that he. would have 
assumed had he been officiating in St. Paul’s or 
Westminster Abbey. This was such a successful 
essay, and. overawed his little congregation so terribly, 
that for a moment he thought of concluding with 
the. benediction ; but, being uncertain whether he 
could go correctly through it, he wisely refrained 

Thereafter he rose and bade the fairy good- 
night. 

“ Your father does not return till late, I suppose ?" 
he said, while he held her hand. 

“ No ; it is morning generally before he gets away. 
The pantomimes are hurting him, I fear, for he's 

T 


290 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


not so active as he once was, and he says he feels 
the falls very bad.” 

“ Poor man ! It ’s very sad ; but I suppose it ’s 
the usual way with that class of men. Well, good 
night again. 

“ Good-night, sir ! ” responded the fairy, with a 
bright smile, “ and thank you very much for your 
visit. Good- night, Willie.” 

Willie said good-night in such a sulky tone, and 
followed Mr. Auberly to the door with such a reck- 
less swagger, that the fairy gazed after him in un- 
utterable surprise. After shutting the door with a 
bang, he suddenly opened it again, and said in a loud 
voice — 

“ I say, I ’ll get my wages day arter to-morrow. 
I ’ll bring you a couple o’ bobs then. It ’s all I can 
afford just now, for cigars are dear. If you ’re hard 
up for wittles in the meantime, just grin and bear 
it ; you ’ll not die, you know, you ’ll only get thinner. 
I have heard that a bit o’ boiled shoe-leather ain’t a 
bad thing to keep one easy till relief comes.” 

“ Dear me ! ” exclaimed Mr. Auberly in the dis- 
tance, and bustling back as he spoke ; “ I quite 
forgot ; how stupid of me ! I was directed by my 
daughter to give you this.” 

He took a ten-pound note from his purse, and put 
it into the fairy’s hand. 

“ This is from Louisa,” he continued, “ and I may 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


291 


add that it is the savings from her pocket-money. 
I did not wish the dear child to part with it, and 
said I would give it to you from myself ; but she 
was so urgent, and seemed so distressed when I 
refused my consent, that I gave in ; so you have to 
thank my daughter, not ine.” 

Mr. Auberly smiled and nodded as he turned to 
go, and there was really very little grim ness in the 
smile on this occasion — very little indeed ! Willie 
also nodded with great violence and frequency ; he 
likewise winked with one eye, and otherwise sought 
to indicate that there were within him sundry deep 
and not easily expressed thoughts and feelings, which 
were, upon the whole, of a satisfactory nature. 

As for the fairy, she never once smiled or thanked 
Mr. Auberly, but simply stared at him with her 
lustrous eyes open to their very widest, and she 
continued to stare at the door, as though she saw 
him through it, for some time after they were gona 
Then she turned suddenly to the wall, thanked God, 
and burst into tears — glad tears, such as only those 
can weep who have unexpectedly found relief when 
their extremity was greatest. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


WHICH REVEALS A REMARKABLE CHANGE IN THE PROSPECTS AND 
FORTUNES OF DAVID BOONE. 

There is nothing more surprising in regard to 
sublunary matters than the way in which unexpected 
events arise out of what may be called unintentional 
causes. 

When David Boone and his friend Gorman planned 
the insurance and destruction of the toy-shop and 
its contents, they no more expected that the very 
first steps towards that end would result in the con- 
version of a poor into a flourishing business, than 
they expected that the expression of a wish would 
convert Poorthing Lane into Beverly Square ; — yet 
30 it was. 

Poor David was rendered so desperate by his 
straits, and so anxious to escape from the crime 
into which his friend sought to plunge him, that 
he meditated suicide ; but, lacking the courage to 
accomplish this, he relieved his feelings by carrying 
out the details of his business and the preliminary 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


293 


steps of his plan, with the wild and reckless energy 
of a maniac. The more he thought of the meshes 
which Gorman had cast around him, the more did 
he regard escape impossible. He therefore sought 
relief in action. He not only talked to his neigh- 
bours (as per agreement) about his rapidly- increasing 
business, but he made purchases on a scale more 
extensive than he had ever before contemplated, 
even in his dreams. Being convinced that ruin, 
sooner or later, was his doom, he indulged in the 
most extravagant excesses, with much of the feeling 
which prompts some seamen, when the ship is 
sinking, to break into the spirit-room and spend 
the short remnant of life in jollity. He experienced 
a sort of savage delight in ordering right and left 
from wholesale dealers in town and country, and 
even went so far as to write to Germany for toys, 
using the name of a well-known London house, 
which had hitherto (and justly) believed him to be 
an honest man. The result of this was that Poor- 
ihing Lane was besieged for some time by railway 
vans, and waggons so huge that apparently an inch 
more added to their bulk would have rendered their 
passage impossible. Great deal boxes were con- 
stantly being unpacked in front of Mr. Boone’s door, 
much to the annoyance of Miss Tippet, who could 
not imagine how it happened that her sedate and 
slow-going landlord had got such a sudden increase 
26 


294 FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 

of business. Little did she think, poor lady, that 
this was the fuel with which it was intended to 
roast her alive ! 

Some of the smaller accounts for goods thus pur- 
chased Boone paid at once with the money fuimished 
to him by Gorman, and thus got credit for being a 
capitalist. Others he deferred payment of until ^ 
more convenient season. 

His friend Gorman, who would not have bent the 
joint of his little finger to have saved him from 
destruction, was so anxious to get up a good appear- 
ance, for the sake of getting the insurance effected 
advantageously, that he did his best to carry out 
his part of the plan, and, being a man of energy, 
who in the paths of virtue might have risen to a 
high position among men, he succeeded beyond his 
expectation. Crowds of purchasers were sent by 
him to the shop of “ the celebrated toyman/’ Some 
were mere decoy-ducks, who came and went (for a 
consideration) pretty frequently, and only “ priced ” 
the goods. Others were genuine purchasers, and 
between the two they created so much traffic in 
the toy- shop, that the multitude — so difficult to 
move by mere suasion, but so prone to follow 
blindly in the wake of a senseless rush, when once 
the rush takes place — began to move in the direc- 
tion of the toyshop, and shortly before Christmas 
the demand for toys was so great, that Boone had 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


295 


to engage two assistants to carry on the business, 
and even the lane itself began to feel the benefit 
of the sudden increase of traffic. 

All this was patent to the eyes of David Boone, 
but he was so overwhelmed with a sense of the 
guilt he was about to incur, and the deception he 
was even then practising, that he regarded the 
whole affair as a hollow bubble, which would soon 
burst and leave nothing behind. Even the rapid 
increase of the credit-balance in his bank-book did 
not affect his opinion, for he was not much of a 
financier, and, knowing that his transactions were 
founded on deception, he looked on the balance as 
being deceptive also. 

Not so thought Gorman. That wily individual 
perceived, to his amazement, that things were 
taking a turn which had never been contemplated, 
so he silently looked on and wondered, and chuckled, 
and resolved to abide his time. . 

As prosperity flowed in upon him, David Boone 
became more insane, — for his condition of mind 
was little, if at all, short of temporary insanity,- - 
and his proceedings became more eccentric than 
ever. Among other things, he became suddenly 
smitten with a desire to advertise, and immediately 
in the columns of the papers appeared advertise- 
ments to the effect that “The Celebrated Toy 
Emporium ” was to be found in Poorthing Lane 




L 


296 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES .* A TALE OF 


Finding that this increased his business consider- 
ably, he hit upon a plan of advertising which has 
been practised rather extensively of late years in 
London. He sent out an army of boys with pots 
of whitewash and brushes, with directions to print 
in rough but large legible letters the words, “ Who 's 
Boone?” on all the blank walls of the metropolis, 
and in the papers he answered the question by 
having printed, under the same title, “Why, the 
manager of the Toy Emporium, to be sure, in 
Poorthing Lane.” He also advertised specially 
that he had in stock “ an assortment of 500 golden- 
haired dolls from Germany, full -dressed, half- 
dressed, and naked.” 

This last was irresistible. Thousands of young 
hearts beat high at the mere thought of such 
numbers — “ with golden hair too ! ” and dozens 
of mammas, and papas too, visited Poorthing Lane 
in consequence. 

Tn course of time David Boone’s e} 7 es began 
to open to the fact that he was rapidly making a 
fortune. 

It was after the bustle of the Christmas season 
was over that he made this discovery. One of his 
new assistants, a young man, named Lyall, was 
the means of opening his employer’s eyes to the 
truth. Lyall was a clever accountant, and had 
been much surprised from the first that Boone 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


297 


kept no regular system of books. At the end of 
the year he suggested that it would be well to 
take stock and find out the state of the business. 
Boone , agreed. Lyall went to work, and in a short 
time the result of his labours showed, that after all 
debts were paid, there would remain a satisfactory 
credit-balance at the bank. 

On the evening of the day on which this marvel- 
lous fact was impressed on Boone’s mind, Gorman 
called, and found his friend rubbing his hands, and 
smiling benignantly in the back room. 

“ You seem jolly,” said Gorman, sitting down, as 
usual, by the fire, and pulling out, as usual, the 
short pipe. “ Business gittin’ on well ? ” 

“ It is,” said Boone, standing with his back to the 
fire, and swaying himself gently to and fro ; “ tilings 
don’t look so bad. I can pay you the arrears of 
rent now.” 

“ Oh, can you ? ” said Gorman. — “ Ah.” 

“Yes, and I’m in a position .to pay you fifty 
pounds of the debt I owe you besides,” said Boone. 

“And a bill at three months for the balance?” 
inquired Gorman. 

No, he could not venture to do that exactly, but 
he hoped to pay a further instalment before the end 
of three months. 

“ Humph ! How much may the profits be ? ” 

Boone could not say precisely, not having had all 
26 * 


298 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


his accounts squared, but he believed they were 
considerable. 

“I’ll be bound they are,” said Gorman, with a 
growl ; “ you won’t want to set things alight now, I 
daresay.” 

“ Well, I think it’ll be as well to wait a bit, and 
let us make hay while this sunshine goes on.” 

“ Let you make hay, you mean?” 

“ Oh, as to that, the most of it will go to your 
stack for some time to come, Gorman.” 

“ Ii ’m ! and what about the insurance ?” 

“Well, you know,” observed Boone, “it’s of no 
use paying the premium for nothing. As we don’t 
mean to set the place alight, you know — .” 

“Ay, but the life insurance, I mean,” said 
Gorman. 

Boone laughed, and observed that he thought it 
best not die just at that particular time, whereupon 
Gorman laughed too, and said he was about right, 
and that it would be as well to delay both events in 
the meantime ; after saying which, he took his leave 
in better humour than usual, for Gorman was what 
men of his own stamp termed a “ deep file.” He saw 
into futurity — so he thought — a considerable way 
farther than most men, and in the future of his own 
imagination he saw such a pleasant picture that his 
amiable spirit was quite cheered by it. He saw 
David Boone making money so fast, that his goods 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


299 


might be insured at a much larger amount ; he saw 
him getting into fresh difficulties, of course, because 
such a business, on such a foundation, could not go 
on prosperously except under the most able manage- 
ment, and, even though it did prosper in spite of 
improbabilities, he foresaw that there was an ami- 
able gentleman, much like himself, who would 
induce Boone to traffic beyond his means, and 
when money was wanted, the same kind gentle- 
man (he saw that quite clearly) would come for- 
ward generously with a loan, for which he would 
only ask Boone to make over to him in security his 
two policies of insurance — fire and life ; after which 
— well, we need not go on revealing the future as it 
appeared to Gorman’s mental vision, suffice it to say, 
that he saw upon the whole a prospect which gave 
him great satisfaction. 

There were one or two things which he did not 
see, however, and which might have modified his 
feelings considerably if he had seen them. Of these 
we shall say nothing at present. 

As for David Boone; his heart rejoiced, for he 
too had visions of the future which charmed him. 
He saw his debt to Gorman paid, and himself set 
free from the power of that amiable friend. He saw 
a toyshop change its locality and its aspect. He 
saw it transplanted into Regent Street, with plate- 
§lass windows, in which were displayed objects of 


300 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


marvellous ingenuity and transcendent beauty. One 
window especially exhibiting, not a crowd, but, a 
very nation of wax-dolls with blue eyes and golden 
hair ! He saw, moreover, a very little old woman, 
lying in a bed, in an elegant and comfortable apart- 
ment, with a Bible beside her, and a contented smile 
on her face. This old lady resembled his own 
mother so- strongly, that all other prospects of the 
future faded from his view, and in the fulness of 
his heart and his success, he resolved then and there 
to go home and present her with a gift on the 
strength of the prosperity at that time attained to. 

David was sorely perplexed as to what this gift 
ought to be. He thought of a new silk gown at 
first ; but the remembrance of the fact that his 
mother was bedridden banished this idea. Owing 
to the same fact, new boots and gloves were inad- 
missible ; but caps were not — happy thought ! He 
started off at once, and returned home with a cap su 
gay, voluminous, and imposing, that the old lady, 
unused though she was to mirth, laughed with 
amusement, while she cried with joy, at this (not 
the first) evidence of her son’s affection. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

KBOOBD8 CHANGES AND MY8TERIES MORE OR LESS UNFATHOMABLE. 

Seven years passed away. During that period 
London revolved in its usual course, reproducing its 
annual number of events— its births, deaths, and 
marriages ; its plans, plots, and pleasures ; its busi- 
ness, bustle, and bungle ; its successes, sentiments, 
and sensations ; its facts, fancies, and failures — also 
its fires; which last had increased steadily, until 
they reached the imposing number of about twelve 
hundred in the year. 

But although that time elapsed, and many changes 
took place, for better or for worse, in all circles of 
society, there had not been much change in the 
relative positions of the actors in our tale ; at least, 
not much that was apparent. Great alterations, 
however, had taken place in the physical condition 
of some, of them, as the sequel will show. 

One bright morning in the spring time of the 

year, a youth, with the soft down of early manhood 

801 


302 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


on his lips and cheeks, paced slowly to and fro near 
the margin of the pond in Kensington Gardens. 

Being early, the spot was as complete a solitude 
as the backwoods of North America, and so thick 
was the foliage on the noble trees, that no glimpse 
of the surrounding city could be obtained in any 
direction. Everything that greeted eye and ear was 
characteristic of “the woods,” even to the swans, 
geese, ducks, and other water-fowl which sported on 
the clear surface of the pond ; while the noise of 
traffic in the mighty metropolis was so subdued by 
distance as to resemble the deep-toned roar of a 
great cataract. A stranger, rambling there for the 
first time, would have found it difficult to believe 
that he was surrounded on all sides by London ! 

It was one of those soul- stirring mornings in 
which Nature seems to smile. There was just 
enough of motion in the air to relieve the effect of 
what is called a dead calm. The ripple on the 
water caught the sun’s rays, and, breaking them up, 
scattered them about in a shower of fragmentary 
diamonds. Fleecy- white clouds floated in the blue 
sky, suggesting dreams of fairy-land, and scents of 
sprouting herbage filled the nostrils, reminding on* 
of the fast -approaching summer. 

The youth who sauntered alone by the margin oi 
the pond was broad of shoulder and stout of limb, 
though' not unusually tall— not much above the 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


303 


middle height. His gait was easy, free, — almost 
reckless — as though he cared not a fig for anybody, 
high or low, rich or poor ; yet his eye was bright 
and his smile kindly, as though he cared for every- 
body, high, low, rich, and poor. He sauntered with 
his hands in the pockets of his short coat, and 
whistled an operatic air in a low melodious tone. 
He was evidently waiting for some one ; and, judg- 
ing from his impatient gestures, some one who was 
resolved to keep him waiting. 

Presently, a female figure appeared in the far 
distance, on the broad avenue that leads direct from 
the Serpentine. She was young and graceful in 
form ; but she walked with a quick step, with her 
eyes looking down, like one who regarded neither 
youth nor grace. Curiously enough, this downcast 
look gave to her fair face a modest, captivating 
grace, which is never seen to sit upon the lofty 
brow, or to circle round the elevated nose, of con 
scious beauty. 

The youth at first paid no attention to her (she 
was not the “ some one,” for whom he waited) ; but 
as she drew near, he became suddenly interested, 
and threw himself in her way. Just as she was 
about to pass, she .raised her eyes, started, blushed, 
and exclaimed^- 

“ Mi Willders!” 

“ Good morning, Miss Ward !” said the youth, 


304 


FIGHTING THE' FLAMES : A TALE OF 


advancing with a smile, and holding out his hand ; 
“ this is indeed an unexpected pleasure ; I did not 
know that you were addicted to early walking.” 

“ I am indeed fond of early walking,” replied 
Emma, with a smile ; “ but I cannot say that it is 
so much pleasure as duty which brings me here. I 
am a day-governess, and pass this pond every morn- 
ing on my way to Kensington, where the family 
in which I teach resides.” 

“ Indeed,” said Willie, with that amount of 
emphasis which denotes moderate surprise and 
solicits information. 

He paused for a single moment ; but, seeing that 
Emma did not intend to speak of her own affairs, 
he added quickly— 

“ I am waiting for my brother Frank. We 
arranged to meet here this morning. I hope that 
Miss Tippet is well?” 

“ Quite well,” replied Emma, with a blush, as she 
took a sudden interest in a large duck, which swam 
up to the edge of the pond at that moment, in the 
hope, 1I0 doubt, of obtaining food from her hand. 
Its hopes were disappointed, however, for Emma 
only called it a beautiful creature ; and then, turn- 
ing somewhat abruptly to Willie, said, with a slight 
look of embarrassment, that she feared she should 
be late and must bid him good- morning. 

Willie felt a good deal puzzled, and had he been 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


305 


the same Willie that we introduced at the com 
mencement of our tale, he would have told Emma 
his mind candidly, and asked her what was the 
matter ; but Willie was a man now, so he smiled, 
’ifted his hat politely, and wished her good-morning. 

Five minutes later, Frank appeared in the dis- 
tance, and hurried forward. Seven years had 
added a little to the breadth of his shoulders, and 
the firm self-possession of his step and look ; but 
they had made no other perceptible impression on 
him. There was, indeed, a deep scar on his right 
temple ; but that was the result of accident, not of 
time. Many a hairbreadth escape had he made 
during these seven years of fighting with the flames, 
and often had his life been in imminent danger; 
but he was fortunate in having escaped, hitherto, 
with only a broken leg and a variety of small cuts, 
scalds, and bruises. The cut on his temple was the 
severest, and most recent of these. He had got it 
in a fall through a second floor, which gave way 
under him as he was attempting to rescue an old 
bedridden man, who lay in an inner chamber. 
Frank was carried out in a state of insensibility on 
the broad shoulders of his friend Baxmore, while 
Dale rescued the. old man. 

“How goes it, Frank?” cried Willie, advancing 
and giving his brother’s hand a warm shake ; “ the 
cut head mending — eh ?” 
u 


27 


506 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ Oh, it's all right,” replied Frank, with a smile, as 
they sauntered up and down by the margin of the 
pond ; “ the headaches have left me now, I ’in thank - 
ful to say, and the doctor tells me it won’t leave much 
of a mark.” 

“ You don’t need to care much if it does, for it ’s' 
an honourable scar, and does not spoil your beauty, 
old boy.” 

“ Well, Willie,” said Frank, “ here I am at your 
request. What have you got to tell me; nothing 
serious, I hope ? ” 

The stalwart fireman looked earnestly into his 
brother’s face, and exhibited more anxiety than 
there seemed to be any occasion for. 

“No, nothing very serious. It may be serious 
enough for all I know ; but as far as my knowledge 
'goes it ’s not bad enough to make you look so anxious. 
Why, what ’s the matter with you ?” 

“ Nothing, Willie. Perhaps my late accident has 
shaken my nerves a bit.” 

Willie burst into a loud laugh, and said that it 
was so awfully absurd to hear a man like Frank 
alking of nerves at all that he could not help it. 

“ Well, but what is the news you ’ve got to tell 
me?” resumed Frank. “You’re not going to he 
married, are you T 

Frank asked this with a look and expression so 
peculiar that Willie again laughed and said that 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


307 


really he could not understand him at all ; for even 
suppose he had been going to be married, that was 
no reason why he should take it so much to heart, 
as the expression on his face implied he did. 

“ Perhaps not, Willie,” said Frank, with a quiet 
smile ; “ but that is not what you want to speak 
about, then?” 

“ No, certainly not.” 

Frank appeared relieved, and Willie, observing 
the appearance, said — 

u Come now, I really don’t see why you should be 
so very much pleased to hear that. I ’m young, it is 
true, but I’m old enough, and I have a good business, 
with brilliant prospects, and there appears to me no 
reason on earth why I should not marry if I felt so 
disposed.” 

" None in the world, Willie,” said Frank with 
some haste, “ but you tell me you are not thinking 
of that just now; so pray let’s hear what you’ve 
got to say. ” 

“ Oh ! it ’s all very well in you, old Blazes, to 
change the subject in that way, but I ’m nettled at 
your implied objection to my getting married if I 
choose. However, we won’t quarrel over it, so here 
goes for the point.” 

Willie’s bantering manner instantly left him. He 
walked in silence for a few seconds, as if he pon- 
dered what he had to . say. 


308 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ There are two points which trouble me just now, 
Frank, and I want your opinion in regard to them. 
The first is, Miss Tippet. She is a small point, nc< 
doubt, whether we regard her physically or men- 
tally, but she is by no means a small point if we re- 
gard her socially, for the good that that little woman 
does in a quiet unobtrusive way is almost incredible. 
D’ye know, Frank, I have a sort of triumphant feel- 
ing in regard to the sour, cynical folk of this world 
— whom it is so impossible to answer in their falla- 
cious and sophistical arguments— when I reflect that 
there is a day coming when the meek and lowly 
and unknown workers for the sake of our Lord shall 
be singled out from the multitude, and their true 
place and position assigned them. Miss Tippet will 
stand higher, I believe, in the next world than she 
does in this. Well, Miss Tippet has been much out 
of sorts of late, mentally ; and Mr. Tippet, who is 
the kindest man alive, has been very anxious about 
her, and has begged of me to try to counsel and com- 
fort her. Now, it is not an easy matter to comply with 
this request, because, in the first place, Miss Tippet 
does not want me to counsel or comfort her, so far 
as I know ; and, in the second place, my motives for 
attempting to do so might be misunderstood. 

“ How so ? ” exclaimed Frank quickly. 

‘‘ Well, you know, Miss Ward lives with her” 
said Willie, with a modest look. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


309 


There was again something peculiar about Frank’s 
expression and manner, as he said, “ Well, it would 
not signify much, I daresay, if people were to make 
remarks about you and Miss Ward, for you know it 
would not be misconstruction after all.” 

“ What mean you ? ” asked Willie in surprise. 

“ You remember what you once said to me about 
your bosom being on fire,” pursued Frank. “ I sup- 
pose the fire has not been got under yet, has it ?” 

Willie burst into a loud laugh. 

‘‘ Why, Blazes, do you not know — ? But no 
matter ; we came here to talk of business ; after 
that is done we can diverge to love.” 

Willie paused here again for a few seconds and 
then resumed : — 

“ You must know, Frank, that the cause of Miss 
Tippet’s disturbance just now is the strange conduct 
of her landlord, David Boone, who has been going 
on of late in a way that would justify his friends 
putting him in an asylum. His business affairs are, 
1 fear, in a bad way, and he not only comes with 
excessive punctuality for Miss Tippet’s rent, but he 
asks her for loans of money in a wild incoherent 
fashion, and favours her with cautions and warnings 
of a kind that are utterly incomprehensible* Only 
the other night he came to her and asked if she did 
not intend soon to visit some of her friends ; and 
on being informed that she did not, he went further 
27 * 


310 FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 

and advised her to do so, saying that she was look - 
ing very ill, and he feared she would certainly get 
into bad health if she did not. In fact, he even said 
that he feared she would die if she did not go to the 
country for a few weeks. Now, all this would be 
laughable, as being the eccentricity of a half-cracked 
fellow, if it were not that he exhibits such a de- 
sperate anxiety that his advice should be followed, 
and even begged of the poor lady, with tears in 
his eyes, to go to visit her friends. What d’ye 
think of it, Frank ? I confess myself utterly non 
plussed.” 

u I don’t know what to think,” said Frank, after a 
pause. “ Either the man must be mad, or he wishes 
to rob Miss Tippet’s house in her absence.” 

Willie admitted that the first supposition might 
be true, but he held stoutly that the second was im- 
possible, for Boone was too honest for that. They 
conversed for some time on this point, and both 
came ultimately to the conclusion that the thing 
was incomprehensible and mysterious, and that it 
ought to be watched and inquired into. Willie, 
moreover, said he would go and consult his friend 
Barret about it. 

“ You know Barret, Frank ?” 

“ No ; but I have heard of him.” 

“ Ah, he ’s a first-rate fellow — in one of the insur- 
ance offices, I forget which. I came to know him 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


31 J 


when I first went to Mr. Tippet’s. He lived then in 
the floor below us with a drunken companion whom 
he was anxious to reclaim ; but he found him so 
hard to manage that he at last left him, and went to 
live in Hampstead. He and I became great friends 
when he lived under our workshop. He got married 
two years ago, and I have not seen much of him since, 
but he ’s a sharp fellow, and knows a good deal more 
of the Tippets than I was aware of. I ’ll go and see 
if he can throw any light on this subject.” 

“ The next point,” pursued Willie, “ is Cattley 
the clown. Have you seeii or heard of him lately V* 

Frank said he had not. 

“ Well, I am greatly troubled about him. He 
has become a regular drunkard, and leads his poor 
daughter a terrible life. He is so broken down with 
dissipation that he can scarcely procure employment 
anywhere. His son is fortunately a pretty decent 
fellow, though somewhat wild, and helps in a small 
way to support his father, having obtained a situa- 
tion as clown at one of the minor theatres. The 
daughter, Ziza, has long ago given up the profession, 
and has been struggling to maintain herself and her 
father by painting fire-screens and making artificial 
flowers ; but the work is severe and ill paid, and I 
see quite well that if the poor girl is not relieved in 
some way she will not be able to bear up.” 

“ I grieve to hear this, Willie,” said Frank, " but 


•312 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


how comes it that you take so great an interest in 
these people?” 

“ Frank,” said Willie, assuming a tone of deep 
seriousness, while a glow suffused his cheeks, “ can 
you keep a secret ?” 

“I think so, lad; at least I promise to try.” 

“Well, then,” said Willie, “I love Ziza Cattley.” 
“ I knew her first as a fairy, I know her now as a 
woman who is worthy of a place among the angels, 
for none but those who know her well and have 
seen her fighting the battle of life can have the 
least idea of the self-denial, the perseverance under 
difficulties, the sweetness of temper, and the deep- 
seated love of that devoted girl. She goes every 
night, after the toil of each day, to the door of the 
theatre, where she waits to conduct her father safely 
past the gin-palaces, into which, but for her, lie 
would infallibly stray, and she spends all she has in 
making him comfortable, but I see well enough that 
this is killing her. She cant stand it long, and 1 
won’t stand it at all ! I ’ve made up my mind to 
that. Now, Frank, I want your advice.” 

To say that Frank was hearty in his assurances 
that lie would do what he could to help his brother, 
would be a faint way of stating the truth. Frank 
shook Willie by the hand and congratulated him on 
having gained the affections of one whom he knew 
to be a good girl, and then condoled with him on 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


313 


that girl’s unfortunate circumstances; but Willie 
stopped him short at this point by asking him in a 
tone: of surprise what could be the matter with him, 
for at first he had been apparently annoyed at the 
notion of his (Willie’s) being in love, and now he 
seemed quite pleased about it. In short, his conduct 
was unaccountable ! 

Frank laughed, but said eagerly- Why, Willie, 
did you not tell me long ago that there was a fire 
in your bosom, lit up by a certain young friend of 
Miss Tippet’s— ” 

“ Oh,” interrupted Willie, “ Emma Ward ; ah, yes, 
I confess that I did feel spooney once in that direc- 
tion when I was a boy, but the fairy displaced her 
long ago. No, no, Frank, I’m not accountable for 
boyish fancies. By the way, I have just parted 
from the fair Emma. We had a tete-a-tete here not 
half-an-hour before you arrived.” 

“ Here !” exclaimed Frank in surprise. 

“ Ay, here,” repeated Willie ; “ she passes this pond 
every morning, she told me, on her way to teach a 
family in Kensington ; by the way, I didn’t think of 
asking whether the father, mother, and servants were 
included among her pupils. Why, Frank, what an 
absent frame of mind you are in this morning ! I 
declare it is not worth a man’s while consulting you 
about anything.” 

“ I beg pardon,” cried Frank quickly, “ your words 


314 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


caused my mind to wander a bit. Come, what do 
you think of doing ?” 

“ What do you think I should do ? that is the 
question.” 

“ You can offer to assist them,” suggested Frank. 

“ I ’ve done so,” said the other, “ but Ziza won't 
accept of assistance.” 

“ Could we not manage to get her a situation of 
some sort with light work and good pay ?” 

“ Ah ! a fireman’s, for instance,” cried Willie with 
a sarcastic laugh ; “did you ever hear of a situation 
with light work and good pay except under Govern- 
ment ? I never did ; but we might perhaps find 
steady work and good pay. It would only be re- 
quired for a time, because I mean to — ah, well, no 
matter- -but how and where is it to be got ? Good 
Mr. Tippet is of no use, because he is mad.” 

“ Mad, Willie !” 

“Ay, mad as a March hare. For years back I 
have suspected it, but now I am sure of it ; in fact, 
I feel that I have gradually come to be his keeper — 
but more of that anon. Meanwhile, what is to be 
done for the Cattleys ?” 

“ Could nothing be done with Mr. Auberly ?” 

Willie shook his head. 

“No, I fear not. He was in a soft state once, 
long ago — six or seven years now I think — when the 
dear fairy was ill, and he seemed as if he were going 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


315 


to become a man ; but his daughter Loo had just 
begun to be ill at that time. She ’s been so, long ill 
now that he has got used to it, and has relapsed again 
into an oyster” 

“ He might be reached through Loo yet,” said 
Frank. 

“Perhaps,” replied Willie, “but I doubt it, for 
he ’s a blunt old fellow in his feelings, however sharp 
he may be in his business ; besides, Loo is so weak 
now that very few are allowed to see her except 
Ziza, and Miss Tippet, and Emma Ward.” 

The brothers remained silent after this for some 
time, for neither of them could see his way out of 
their difficulties ; at last Frank suggested that Willie 
should go home and consult his mother. 

“ She is wise, Willie, and has never given us bad 
advice yet.” 

“ I know what her first advice will be,” said Willie. 

“ What ? ” asked Frank. 

“ To go and pray about it,” answered Willie. 

“ Well, she might give worse advice than that,” 
said Frank, with much earnestness. “ In fact, 1 
doubt if she could give better.” 

“True,” assented Willie, “and now, old fellow, 
I ’m off. Mr. Tippet likes punctuality. I ’ll look in 
at the station in passing if anything turns up to clear 
my mind on these matters, meanwhile good-bye.” 

It is a remarkable fact that Frank Willders took 


316 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


an early walk, as frequently as possible, in Kensing- 
ton Gardens, near the pond, after this conversation 
with his brother, and it is a still more remarkable 
fact, that he always felt like a guilty man on these 
occasions, as if he were taking some mean advantage 
of some one , yet it was certain that he took advan- 
tage of no one, for nobody evei met him there by 
any chance whatever ! A fact even more remark- 
able still was, that never, after that day, did Emma 
Ward go to her duties through Kensington Gardens, 
but always by the Bayswater Road, although the 
latter was dusty and unpicturesque compared with 
the former ; and it is a circumstance worthy of note, 
as savouring a little of mystery, that Emma acted as 
if she too were a guilty creature during her morning 
walks, and glanced uneasily from side to side as she 
went along, expecting, apparently, that a policeman 
or a detective would pounce upon her suddenly and 
bear her off to prison. But, whether guilty or not 
guilty, it is plain that no policeman or detective 
had the heart to do it, for Miss Ward went on her 
mission daily without molestation. 

It is not easy to say what was the cause of these 
unaccountable proceedings. We might hazard an 
opinion, but we feel that our duty is accomplished 
when we have simply recorded them. Perhaps love 
had something to do with them — perhaps not — who 
knows ? 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

SHOWS WHAT DRINK WILL DO FOR A MAN, AND WHAT A MAH WILL 
DO FOR DRINK. 

Time passed on, as time is wont to do, and 
Christmas came again. The snow was deep in 
London streets, and thick on the roofs and chim- 
neys. It curled over the eaves of the houses in 
heavy white folds, ready to fall and smother the 
unwary passengers. It capped the railings every- 
where with little white knobs, and rounded off the 
corners of tilings so, that wherever the eye alighted, 
the same impressions were invariably conveyed to 
it, namely, whiteness and rotundity. Corinthian 
capitals were rendered, if possible, more ornate than 
ever by snow ; equestrian statues were laden with 
it so heavily, that the horses appeared to stagger 
beneath their trappings, and the riders, having white 
tips to their noses, white lumps on their heads and 
shoulders, and white patches on their cheek-bones 
and chins looked ineffably ridiculous, and miser- 
ably cold. Everything, in fact, was covered and 
28 317 


318 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


blocked up with snow, and Londoners felt as if 
they had muffled drums in their ears. 

It was morning. The sky was clear, the air still, 
and the smoke of chimneys perpendicular. Poul- 
terers’ shops were in their holiday attire ; toyshops 
were in the ascendant, and all other shops were 
gayer than usual. So were the people who thronged 
the streets and beat their hands and stamped their 
feet — for it was unusually cold. 

Street boys were particularly lively, and chaff was 
flying as thickly as snow-flakes had fallen the night 
before. Even the roughs — who forsook their dens, 
and, with shovels and brooms on their shoulders, 
paraded the streets, intent on clearing door-steps 
with or without the leave of inhabitants— seemed 
to be less gruff than usual, and some of them even 
went the length of cutting jokes with the cabmen 
and the boys. Perhaps their spirits were elevated 
by the proud consciousness of being for once in the 
way of earning an honest penny ! 

“ I say, Ned,” observed one -of these roughs (a 
lively one), who was very rough indeed, to a com- 
panion, who was rougher still, and gloomy, “ look 
at that there gal cleanin’ of her steps with a fire- 
shovel ! Ain’t that economy gone mad ? Hallo, 
young ’ooman, what ’s the use o’ tryin’ to do it with 
a teaspoon, when there ’s Ned and me ready co <io 
it with our shovels for next to nothin’ ? ” 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


319 


The servant- girl declined the assistance thus 
liberally offered, so the two men moved slowly on. 
looking from side to side, as they went in expecta- 
tion of employment, while a small boy, in a man’s 
hat, who walked behind them, nodded to the girl, 
and said she was a “ sensible thrifty gal,” and that 
she might be sure there was “ some feller unknown 
who would bless the day he was born arter he ’d got 
her.” 

Fifty yards farther on, a stout red-faced elderly 
gentleman was observed to look out at the street- 
door and frown at things in general 

“ Have your door- steps cleaned, sir ? ” asked the 
lively rough, taking the shovel off his shoulder. 

The elderly gentleman being angry, on private and 
unknown grounds (perhaps bad digestion), vouch- 
safed no reply, but looked up at the sky and then 
over the way. 

<‘Do it cheap, sir,” said the lively rough. 

“No!” said the elderly gentleman, with a sort of 
snapping look, as he turned his gaze up the street 
and then down it. 

“ Snow ’s wery deep on the steps, sir,” said the 
rough. 

“ D’ you suppose I ’m an ass ? ” exclaimed the 
elderly gentleman, in a sudden burst. 

‘‘Well, sir,” said the lively rough, in the grave 
tone and manner of one who has had a difficult 


320 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


question in philosophy put to him, “ well, sir, I don’t 
know about that” 

His large mouth expanded gradually from ear to 
ear after this reply. The elderly gentleman’s face 
became scarlet and his nose purple, and retreating 
two paces, he slammed the door violently in the 
rough’s face. 

“ Ah ! it all comes of over-feedin’, poor feller,” 
said the lively man, shouldering his shovel and 
resuming his walk beside his gloomy comrade, who 
neither smiled nor frowned at these pleasantries. 

“ A warm old g’nTm’n !” remarked the boy in the 
man’s hat as he passed. 

The lively man nodded and winked. 

“ Might eat his wittles raw an’ cook ’em inside 
a’most ! ” continued the boy ; : “ would advise him to 
keep out of ’yde Park, though, for fear he ’d git too 
near the powder-magazine ! ” 

At this point the gloomy rough — who did not 
appear, however, to be a genuine rough, but a pretty 
good imitation of one, made of material that had 
once seen better days — stopped, and said to his com- 
rade that he was tired of that sort of work, and 
would bid him good-day. Without waiting for an 
answer he walked away, and his companion, without 
vouchsafing a reply, looked after him with a sneer. 

“ A rum cove ! ” he remarked to the small boy in 
the man’s hat, as he continued his progress. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


32 J 


* Rayther,” replied the boy. 

With this interchange of sentiment these casual 
acquaintances parted, to meet probably no more ! 

Meanwhile the gloomy rough, whom the lively 
one had called Ned, walked with rapid steps along 
several streets, as though he had a distinct purpose 
in view. He turned at last into a narrow quiet 
street, and going up to the door of a shabby- 
genteel house, applied the knocker with consider- 
able vigour. 

“ Now then, go along with you ; we don’t want 
your services here ; we clear off our own snow, we 
do. Imprence ! to knock, too, as if he was a gentle- 
man ! ” 

This was uttered by a servant-girl who had thrust 
her head out of a second-floor window to take an 
observation of the visitor before going down to open 
the door. 

“ Is he at home, Betsy dear ?” inquired the gloomy 
man, looking up with a leer which proved that he 
could be the reverse of gloomy when he chose. 

“ Oh, it ’s you, is it ? I don’t think he wants to 
see you ; indeed, I ’m sure of it,” said the girl. 

“ Yes he does, dear ; at all events I want to see 
him ; and, Betsy, say it ’s pressing business, and not 
beggin ’.” 

Betsy disappeared, and soon after, reappearing at 
the door, admitted the man, whom she ushered into 
28 * 


v 


322 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


a small apartment, which was redolent of tobacco, 
and in which sat a young man slippered and dressing- 
gowned, taking breakfast. 

“ How are you, doctor?” said the visitor, in a tone 
that did not accord with his soiled and ragged gar- 
ments, as he laid down his hat and shovel, and flung 
himself into a chair. 

“ None the better for seeing you, Hooper,” replied 
the doctor sternly. 

“ Well, well ! ” exclaimed Ned, “ what a world, we 
live in, to be sure ! It was ‘ Hail fellow ! well met/ 
when I was well off ; now ” (he scowled here) “ my 
old familiars give me the cold shoulder because I'm 
'poor ! ” 

“ You know that you are unjust,” said the doctor, 
leaning back in his chair, and speaking less sternly 
though not less firmly ; “ you know, Ned, that I 
have helped you with advice and with money to the 
utmost extent of my means, and you know that it 
was a long long time before I ceased to call you one 
of my friends ; but I do not choose to be annoyed 
by a man who has deliberately cast himself to the 
dogs, whose companions are the lowest wretches in 
London, and whose appearance is dirty and disgust- 
ing as well as disreputable. 

“ I can’t help it,” pleaded Hooper ; “ I can get no 
work.” 

“T don’t wonder at that,” replied the doctor 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


323 


* every friend you ever had has got you work of one 
kind or another during the last few years, and you 
have drunk yourself out of it every time. Do you 
imagine that your friends will continue to care for a 
man who cares not for himself?” 

Ned did not reply, but hung his head in moody 
silence. 

“ Now,” continued the doctor, “ my time is a little 
more valuable than yours ; state what you have got 
to say, and then be off. Stay,” he added, in a softened 
tone, “ have you breakfasted ? ” 

“ No,” answered Ned, with a hungry glance at the 
table. 

“ Well, then, as you did not come to beg, you may 
draw in your chair and go to work.” 

Ned at once availed himself of this permission, 
and his spirits revived wonderfully as he progressed 
with the meal, during which he stated the cause of 
his visit. 

“ The fact is,” said he, “ that I want your assist- 
ance, doctor—” 

“ I told you already,” interrupted the other, “ that 
I have assisted you to the utmost extent of my 
means.” 

“ My good fellow, not so sharp, pray,” said Ned, 
helping himself to another roll, the first having 
vanished like a morning cloud ; “ I don’t want 
money — ah ! that is to say, I do want money, but 


324 FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 

I don’t want yours. No ; T came here to ask you 
to help me to get a body.” 

A body ! What do you mean ? ” 

“ Why, what I say ; surely you ’ve cut up enough 
nf ’em to know ’em by name ; a dead body, doctor, 
— a subject.” 

The doctor smiled. 

“ That ’s a strange request, Ned. You ’re not 
going to turn to my profession as a last resort, I 
hope ? ” J 

“ No, not exactly ; but a friend of mine wants a 
body — that ’s all, and offers to pay me a good round 
sum if I get one for him.” 

“ Is your friend a medical man ? ” asked the 
doctor. 

“ N — no, he ’s not. In fact, he has more to do 
with spirits than bodies ; but he wants one of the 
latter,— and I said I ’d try to get him one — so, if 
you can help me, do so, like a good fellow. My 
friend is particular, however ; he wants a man one, 
above six feet, thin and sallow, and with long black 
hair.” 

“ You don’t suppose I keep a stock of assorted 
subjects on hand, do you?” said the doctor. “1 
fear it won’t be easy to get what you want. Do 
you know what your friend intends to do with 
it?” 

“Not I, and I don’t care,” said Ned, pouring 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


325 


out another cup of coffee. “What does a body 
cost ? ” 

“ Between two and three pounds/' replied the 
doctor. 

“ Dear me, so cheap/’ said Ned, with a look of 
surprise ; “ then that knocks on the head a little 
plan I had. I thought of offering myself for sale at 
Guy’s, or one of the hospitals, and drinking m} r self 
to death with the money, leaving my address, so 
that they might know where to find me; but it’s 
not worth while to do it for so little ; in fact-, 1 
don’t believe I could accomplish it on three pounds’ 
worth of dissipation.” 

“ Don’t jest about your besetting sin,” said the 
doctor gravely ; “ it ’s bad enough without that.” 

“ Bad enough ! ” exclaimed Ned, with a sudden 
flash of ferocity ; “ ay, bad enough in all con- 
science, and the worst of it is, that it makes me 
ready to , jest about anything — in heaven, earth, or 
hell. Oh, drink ! accursed drink ! ” 

He started up and clutched the hair of his head 
with both hands for a moment ; but the feeling 
passed away, and he sat down again and resumed 
breakfast, while he said in a graver tone than he 
had yet used — 

“ Excuse me, doctor ; I ’m subject to these bursts 
now and then. Well, what say you about the 
body ? My friend offers me twenty pounds, if I get 


326 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


the right kind. That would be seventeen pounds of 
profit on the transaction. It ’s worth an effort. It 
might put me in the way of making one more 
stand.” 

Ned said this sadly, for he had made so many 
stands in time past, and failed to retain his position, 
that hope was at dead low- water of a very neap-tide 
now. 

“I don’t like the look of the thing,” said the 
doctor. “ There ’s too much secrecy about it for me. 
Why don’t your friend speak out like a man ; state 
what he wants it for, and get it in the regular 
way ? ” 

“ It mayn’t be a secret, for all I know,” said Ned 
Hooper, as he concluded his repast. “ I did not 
take the trouble to ask him ; because I didn’t care 
You might help me in this, doctor.” 

“ Well, I ’ll put you in the way of getting what 
you want,” said the doctor, after a Tew moments’ 
reflection ; “ but you must manage it yourself. I ’ll 
not act personally in such an affair ; and let me 
advise you to make sure that you are not getting 
into a scrape before you take any steps in the 
matter. Meanwhile, I must wish you good- day. 
Call here again to-night, at six.” 

The doctor rose as he spoke, and accompanied 
Ned to the door. He left a coin of some sort in big 
palm, when he shook hands. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


327 


“ Thankee,” said Ned 

“ If you had come to beg, you should not have 
got it,” said the doctor. “ God help him !” he added, 
as he shut the door ; “ it is an awful sight to see an 
old companion fall so low.” 

i 




flood 




•'ll , jfiq'o i T 

Tjrr •: • f 

, v j ' . : 


CHAPTER XXVI 


JK WtTltfH v STRONG LIGHT 18 THROWN ON AN OLD PLOT. 

It is evening now. The snow is still on the 
ground ; but it looks ruddy and warm in the streets, 
because of the blaze of light from the shop-win- 
dows, and it looks colder than it did on the house- 
tops, by reason of the moon which sails in the 
wintry sky. 

The man in the moon must have been in good 
spirits that night, for his residence seemed almost 
fuller than the usual full moon, and decidedly 
brighter — to many, at least, of the inhabitants of 
London. 

It looked particularly bright to Miss Tippet, as 
she gazed at it through the windows of her upper 
rooms, and awaited the arrival of “ a few friends” to 
tea. Miss Tippet’s heart was animated with feelings 
of love to God and man ; and she had that day, in 
obedience to the Divine precept, attempted and ac- 
complished a good many little things, all of which 

328 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


329 


were, either directly or indirectly, calculated to make 
human beings happy. 

Emma Ward, too, thought the moon particularly 
bright that night; in fact, she might almost have 
been regarded as a lunatic, so steadily did she gaze 
at the moon, and smile to herself without any 
apparent motive. There was reason for her joy, 
however : for she had come to know, in some 
mysterious way, that Frank Willders loved her, and 
she had known, for a long time past, that she loved 
Frank Willders. 

Frank had become a foreman of the Fire Brigade, 
and had been removed from his former station and 
comrades to his new charge in the City. But Frank 
had not only risen in his profession; he had also 
risen intellectually. His mother had secured to him 
a pretty good education to# begin with, and his own 
natural taste and studious habits had led him to 
read extensively. His business required him to sit 
up and watch when other men slept. He seldom 
went to bed before four o’clock any morning, and 
when he did take his rest, he lay down like the 
soldier in an enemy’s country, ready to rush to arms 
at the first sound of the bugle. His bugle, by the 
way, was a speaking-trumpet, one end of which was 
close to the head of his bed, the other end being in 
the lobby where the men on duty for the night re- 


330 


Fir iITING THE FLAMES * A TALE OF 


During these long watches in the silent lobby, 
with the two men belted and booted on their 
trersels, and the clock ticking gently by his side 
like the soft quiet voice of a chatty but not tire- 
some friend, Frank read book after book with 
absorbing interest. History, poetry, travel, romance 
— all kinds were equally devoured. At the particu- 
lar time of which we write, however, he read more 
of poetry than of anything else. 

The consequence was that Frank, who was one of 
lature’s gentlemen, became a well-informed man, 
and might have moved in any circle of society 
wit 1 credit to himself, and profit as well as 
pleasure to others. 

Frank w is by nature, grave, sedate, earnest, 
thoughtful. Emma was equally earnest — more so 
perhaps — but she was •light-hearted (not light- 
headed, observe) and volatile. The result was, 
mutual attraction. Let philosophers account for 
the mutual attraciion of these qualities as they 
best may, we simply record the fact. History 
recor* Is it ; nature records it ; experience — every- 
thirg records it; who has the temerity, or folly, 
to deny it ? 

Emma and Frank felt it, and, in some mysterious 
way, Frank had come to know something or other 
ab^ut Emma’s feelings, which it is not our business 
to inquire into too particularly. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


331 


So, then, Frank also gazed — no, not at the moon ; 
it would have required him to ascend three flights 
of stairs, and a ladder, besides passing through a 
trap to the roof of the station, to enable him to do 
that ; but there was a lamp over the fireplace, with 
a tin reflector, which had quite a dazzling effect of 
its own — not a bad imitation of the moon in a 
small way — so he gazed at that, and thought it 
very bright indeed ; brighter than usual. 

We may as well put the reader out of suspense 
at once, by saying, that we do not intend to describe 
Miss Tippet’s evening with “a few friends.” Our 
own private opinion in regard to the matter is, that 
if they had been fewer than they were, and more 
worthy of the name of friends, the evening might 
have been worth recording, but it is sufficient to say 
that they all came ; acted as usual, spoke as usual, 
felt as usual, “favoured the company ” with songs, 
as usual, and — ah — yes, — enjoyed themselves as 
usual, till about half-past eleven o’clock, when they 
all took their leave, with the exception of Miss 
Deemas, who, in consideration of the coldness of 
the weather, had agreed to spend the night with her 
“ dear friend.” 

Miss Deemas was one of those unfortunates with 
whom it is impossible for any one to sleep. Besides 
being angular and hard, she had a habit of kicking 
in her slumbers, and, being powerful, was a danger- 


332 


1 IGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


oris bedfellow. She knew this herself, and therefore 
wisely preferred, when visiting her friends, to sleep 
alone. Hence it happened that Miss Tippet and 
Emma went to bed in the hack room with the green 
hangings, while Miss Deemas retired to the front 
room with the blue paper. 

There is a common fallacy in naval matters, 
founded on poetical license, to the effect that the 
mariner is separated from death by a single plank ; 
whereas, the unpoetical truth is, that the separation 
consists of many hundreds of planks, and a solid 
bulwark of timbers more than a foot thick, besides 
an inner “ skin,” the whole being held together by 
innumerable iron and oaken bolts and trenails, and 
tightened with oakum and pitch. We had almost 
fallen into this error — or poetical laxity of expres- 
sion — by saying that, on the night of which we write, 
little did Miss Tippet know that she was separated 
from, not death exactly, but from something very 
awful, by a single plank ; at least, by the floor of 
her own residence, and the ceiling of the house 
below — as the sequel will show. 

That same night, David Boone, gaunt, tall, and 
cadaverous as of old, sat in his back parlour, talking 
with his friend Gorman. 

“ Now, Boone,” said the latter, with an oath, 
“I’m not goin’ to hang off and on any longer. It’s 
more than seven years since we planned this 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


333 


business, the insurances have been effected, you Ve 
. bin a prosperous man, yet here you are, deeper in 
my debt than ever.” 

“ Quite true,” replied Boone, whose face was so 
pale that he might have easily been mistaken for a 
ghost, “ but you know I have paid up my premiums 
quite regular, and your interest tqo, besides clearin 
off some of the principal. Come, don’t be hard on 
me, Gorman. If it had not been that trade has got 
worse of late, I would have cleared off all I owe 
you, but indeed, indeed I have not been so success- 
ful of late, and I’m again in difficulties. If you 
will only wait — .” 

“ No,” ' cried Gorman, “ I ’ll not wait. I have 
waited long enough. How long would you have 
me wait— eh? Moreover, I’m not hard on you, 
I show you an easy way to make a good thing of 
it, and you ’re so chicken-hearted that you ’re afraid 
to do it.” 

“ It’s such a mean thing to do,” said Boone. 

“ Mean ! Why, what do you call the style of 
carrying on business that you started with seven 
years ago, and have practised more or less ever 
since?” 

“ That is mean too,” said Boone, “ I ’m ashamed 
of it ; sorry for it. It was for a time successful no 
doubt, and I have actually paid off all my creditors 
except yourself, but I don’t think it the less mean 
29 * 


334 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


on that account, and I’m thoroughly ashamed of 
it.” 

There was a good deal of firmness in Boone’s tone 
as he said this, and his companion was silent for a 
few minutes. 

“ I have arranged,” he said at last, “ about your 
making over you^ policies of insurance to me as 
security for the debt you owe me. You won’t have 
to pay them next half-year, I ’ll do that for you if 
necessary He laughed as he said this. “I have 
now come to ask you to set the j^ouse alight, and 
have the plan carried out, and the whole affair com- 
fortably settled.” 

Gorman said this in an encouraging voice, assum- 
ing that his dupe was ready to act. 

“B — But it’s awful to think of,” said Boone; 
“ suppose it’s found out?” 

“ How can it be found out ?” 

“Well, I don’t know. It’s wonderful how crime 
is discovered,” said Boone despondingly ; “besides, 
think of the risk we run of burning the people who 
live above, as well as my two clerks who sleep in 
the room below us : that would be murder, you know. 
I ’m sure I have tried my very best to get Miss 
Tippet to go from home for a short time, I 've almost 
let the cat out of the bag in my anxiety, but she 
won’t take the hint.” 

“ Oho !” exclaimed Gorman, with a laugh. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


335 


“ Well, have you made the arrangements as I 
directed you last night ?” 

“ Yes, I Ve got a lot of tarry oakum scattered 
about, and there is a pile of shavings,” he added, 
pointing to a corner of the room ; “ the only thing 
I'm anxious about is that my young man Robert 
Roddy caught me pouring turpentine on the walls 
and floor of the shop. I pretended that it was water 
I had in the can, and that I was sprinkling it to lay 
the dust before sweeping up. Roddy is a slow, 
stupid youth ; he always was, and, I daresay, did 
not notice the smell.” 

Gorman was himself filled with anxiety on hearing 
the first part of this, but at the conclusion he ap- 
peared relieved. 

“ It ’s lucky you turned it off so,” said he, “ and 
Roddy is a stupid fellow. I daresay he has no sus- 
picion. In fact, I am sure of it.” 

“ It 's not of much importance now , however,” said 
Boone, rising and confronting his friend with more 
firmness than he had ever before exhibited to him, 
“ because I have resolved not to do it.” 

Gorman lit his pipe at the fire, looking at the 
bowl of it with a scornful smile as he replied : — 

“Oh! you have made up your mind, have 
you?” 

“Yes, decidedly. Nothing will move me. You 
may do your worst.” 


336 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ Very good,” remarked Gorman, advancing with 
the lighted paper towards the heap of shavings. 

Boone sprang towards him, and, seizing his arm, 
grasped the light and crushed it out. 

•“ What would you do, madman V: he cried. “ You 
can only ruin me, but do you not know that I will 
have the power to denounce you as a fire-raiser?” 

Gorman laughed, and returned to the fireplace, 
while Boone sat down on a chair almost overcome 
with terror. 

“ What ! you dare to defy me ?” said Gorman, with 
an air of assumed pity. “ A pretty case you would 
have to make out of it. You fill your shop with 
combustibles, you warn your tenant upstairs to get 
out of the premises for a time in a way that must be 
quite unaccountable to her (until the fire accounts 
for it), and your own clerk sees you spilling turpen- 
tine about the place the day before the fire occurs, 
and yet you have the stupidity to suppose that 
people will believe you when you denounce me /” 

Poor David: Boone’s wits seemed to be sharpened 
by his despair, for he said suddenly, after a short 
pause — 

“ If the case is so. bad it will tell against yourself, 
Gorman, for I shall be certainly convicted, and the 
insurance will not be paid to you.” 

“ Ay, but the case is not so bad as it looks,” said 
Gorman, “if you only have the sense to hold your 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


337 


tongue and do what you are told ; for nobody knows 
all these things but you and me, and nobody can 
put them together except ourselves— d’ ye see ?” 

It matters not/’ said Boone firmly ; ‘ I won o a u 
it — there !” 

Both men leaped up. At the same moment there 
was a sound as of something falling in the shop. 
They looked at each other. 

“ Go see what it is,” said Gorman. 

The other stepped to the door. 

“ It ’s only two of my wax- dolls tumbled off the 
shelf,” he said on returning. 

An exclamation of horror escaped him, for he saw 
*that the heap of shavings had been set on fire during 
his momentary absence, and Gorman stood watching 
them with a demoniacal grin. 

Boone was struck dumb. He could not move or 
speak. He made a feeble effort to stretch out his 
hands as if to extinguish the fire, but Gorman seized 
him in his powerful grasp and held him fast. In a 
few seconds the flames were leaping up the walls, 
and the room was so full of smoke that they were 
driven into the front shop. 

"Now, then,” said Gorman in a fierce whisper, 
“ your only chance is to act out your part as wisely 
as you can. Shout fire ! now till you he black in the 
fae e—fire l fire ! ! FIBE ! ! ! ” 

David Boone obeyed with all his might, and, when 
w 


338 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


Gorman released him, ran back into the parlour to 
try to extinguish the flames, but he was driven back 
again, scorched and half-choked, while Gorman ran 
off at full speed to the nearest station, gave the alarm, 
received the shilling reward for being first to give 
the call, and then went leisurely home to bed. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


WHEREIN SOME OLD FRIENDS ARE FOUND AT THE POST OF DUTY 
AS C8UAL, AND DE8PAIR IS FOLLOWED IN ONE IN8TANCE BY MAD- 
NESS. 

Fire ! There is something appalling in the cry to 
most ears ; something deadly in the sound ; some- 
thing that tells of imminent danger and urgent 
haste. After David Boone’s first alarm was given, 
other voices took it up ; passers-by became sud- 
denly wild, darted about spasmodically and shouted 
it ; late sitters-up flung open their windows and pro- 
claimed it ; sleepers awoke crying “ What ! where ? ” 
and, huddling on their clothes, rushed out to look at 
it ; little boys yelled it ; frantic females screamed 
it, and in a few minutes the hubbub in Poorthing 
Lane swelled into a steady roar. 

Among the sound sleepers in that region was 
Miss Deemas. The fair head of that lady reposed 
on its soft pillow all unconscious of the fact that she 
was even then being gently smoked before being 
roasted alive. 


340 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Miss Tippet, on the very first note of alarm, 
bounced out of bed with an emphatic “ There ! ” 
which was meant to announce the triumphant fulfil- 
ment of an old prophecy which she had been in the 
habit of making for some time past ; namely, that 
Matty Merryon would certainly set the house on 
fire if she did not take care ! 

The energy with which Miss Tippet sprang to 
the floor and exclaimed “There!” caused Emma 
Ward to open her eyes to the utmost possible ex- 
tent, and exclaim “Where?” 

Without waiting for a reply she too bounded out 
of bed like an india-rubber ball, and seeing (for 
there was always a night-light in the room) that 
Miss Tippet’s face was as white as her night-dress, 
she attempted to shriek, but failed, owing to a lump 
of some kind that had got somehow into her throat, 
and which refused to be swallowed on any terms. 

The repetition of the cry “ Fire ! fire ! ” outside, 
induced both ladies at once to become insane. Miss 
Tippet, with a touch of method even in her mad- 
ness, seized the counterpane, wrapped it round her, 
and rushed out of the room and downstairs. Emma 
followed her example with a blanket, and also fled 
just as Matty Merryon, who slept in an attic room 
above, tumbled down her wooden staircase and burst 
into the room by another door, uttering a wild ex- 
dam ation that was choked in the bud partly by 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


341 


terror, partly by smoke. Attempting in vain to wrap 
herself in the bolster, Matty followed her mistress. 
All three had utterly forgotten the existence of Miss 
Deemas. That strong-minded lady being, as we 
have hinted, a sound sleeper, was not awakened by 
the commotion in the street. In fact, she was above 
such weaknesses. Becoming aware of a crackling 
sound and a sensation of smoke, she smiled sweetly 
in her slumbers, and, turning gently on her other 
side, with a sigh, dreamed ardently of fried ham 
and eggs— her usual breakfast. 

While these events were occurring the cry of fire 
had reached the ears of one of London’s guardians , 
our friend Samuel Forest. That stout-hearted man 
was seated at the time rapping the sides of his 
sentry box with his head, in a useless struggle with 
sleep. He had just succumbed, and was snoring 
out his allegiance to the great conqueror, when the 
policeman on the beat dashed open his door and 
shouted “ Fife ! ” 

Sam was a calm, self-possessed man. He was no 
more flurried by this sudden, unexpected, and fierce 
shout of fire, than he would have been if the police- 
man had in a mild voice made a statement of water. 
But,, although self-possessed and cool, Sam was not 
slow. With one energetic effort he tripped up and 
floored the conqueror with one hand, as it were, 
while he put on his black helmet with the other, 
30 


342 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES . A TALE OF 


and in three minutes more the fire-escape was seen 
coming up the lane like a rampant monster of the 
antediluvian period. 

It was received by the crowd with frantic cheers, 
because they had just become aware that a lady was 
asleep in one of the upper rooms, which were by that 
time unapproachable, owing to the lower part of the 
staircase having caught fire. 

The fact was made known with a sudden look of 
horror by Miss Tippet, who, with Emma Ward, had 
been rescued from the first floor window by a gal- 
lant policeman. This man having procured a ladder, 
entered the house at considerable personal risk, and 
carried the ladies out in safety, one after the other ; 
an event, we may remark in passing, which is not of 
rare occurrence at London fires, where the police are 
noted for their efficient services and for the daring 
of some of the members of the force, many of whom 
have received medals and other rewards for acts of 
personal daring in attempting to save life before the 
firemen had arrived on the ground. 

Having put Miss Tippet and Emma in a place of 
security, the policeman was about to make a des- 
perate attempt to reach the upper floor by rushing 
through the flames, when the escape came up and 
rendered it unnecessary. 

Dozens of tongues and hundreds of voices directed 
Sam Forest to the right window. He pointed his 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


343 


escape towards it, but so vigorous was the uninvited 
assistance lent by the crowd that the Head of the 
machine went crashing through it and dashed the 
frame into the middle of the room. 

To say that Miss Deemas was horror-struck by 
such an awakening would be to use a mild expres- 
sion. Her strong mind was not strong enough to 
prevent her strong body from trembling like an 
aspen leaf, as she lay for a few moments unable to 
cry or move. Suddenly she believed that she was 
dreaming, and that the instrument which had burst 
through her window was a nightmare or a guillotine, 
and she made dreadful efforts to pinch herself awake 
without success. Next moment a man’s head, 
looking very grim in the light of a bull’s-eye lamp, 
appeared at the top of the guillotine. So far this 
was in keeping with her idea ; but when the head 
leapt into the room, followed by its relative body, 
and made a rush at her, Miss Deemas cast courage 
and philosophy to the dogs, gave herself over to 
abject fear, uttered a piercing shriek, dipped her 
head under the bedclothes, and, drawing her knees 
up to her mouth, clasped her hands over them in 
agony. 

“ Come, ma’am, don’t take on so ; no time to lose ; 
floor ’e goin’ down ! ” said Sam. He coughed as he 
said it, for the smoke was getting thicker every 
moment, 


iU 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Shriek upon shriek was the only answer vouch- 
nafed by the terrified Eagle. A wild cheer from the 
mob outside seemed to be a reply of encouragement 
In her ; but it was not so : it was called forth by the 
sudden appearance of a fire-engine dashing round 
the corner of the lane. 

w Be quiet, my good lady,” said Sam Forest in a 
voice of tenderness ; but if his voice was tender his 
actions were the reverse, for it was now a matter of 
life or death; so he grasped the Eagle, bedclothes 
and all, in his arms, and bore her to the window. 

It is probable that this act revived in Miss 
Deemas some reminiscences of her childhood, for 
she suddenly straightened herself out and struggled 
violently, after the manner of those sweet little ones 
who won't be made to sit on nurse’s knees. Being 
a tall heavy woman, she struggled out of Sam’s 
grasp and fell to the floor ; but her victory was 
short-lived. Another moment and that bold man 
had her round the waist, in a grasp from which she 
could not free herself. Sam was considerate, how- 
ever, and polite even in this extremity. He begged 
pardon as he wrapped the bedclothes round his 
victim, and lifting her into the head of the escape, 
let her go* 

No swoop that the Eagle ever made (mentally) 
down upon base, unworthy, arrogant man, was at all 
comparable to the descent which she made (phy* 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


45 


sically) on that occasion into the arms of an expectant 
fireman ! She held her breath, also the blankets, 
tightly, as she went down like a lightning-flash, and 
felt that she was about to be dashed to pieces ; but 
to her surprise soft cushions received her, and she 
was immediately borne, by another of these despe- 
rate men in helmets, into an adjoining house, and 
left unhurt in the arms of her sympathetic friend 
Miss Tippet. 

“Oh, my dear, dear Julia!” exclaimed Miss 
Tippet, shutting the door of the room into which 
they had been ushered, and assisting her friend to 
disentangle herself from the bedclothes. “Oh ! what 
a mercy we Ve not all been roasted alive like beef- 
steaks — or— oh ! what a sight you are, my darling! 
You must have got it coming down that dreadful 
thing— the what ’s-’is-name, you know. Shall I 
ring for wate t r ? ” 

“ Tut, nonsense ! ” exclaimed the Eagle, panting 
as well from nervous excitement as exhaustion ; 
“ you are always so fussy, Emelina. Please assist 
me to tie this string. Miss Ward/’ 

“Yes, I know I'm fussy, dear Julia !” exclaimed 
Miss Tippet, bustling nervously about the room; 
“but I can’t help it, and I’m so thankful for — ; 
but it was so bold in these noble fellows to risk their 
lives to— ” 

“ Noble fellows ! ” shouted Miss Deemas with 
30 * 


346 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


flashing eyes ; “ d’ you call it noble to pull me out 
of bed, and roll me in a blanket and shoot me down 
a — a — I don't know what, like a sack of coals? 
Noble fellows, indeed ! — Brutes ! ” 

Here Miss Deemas clasped her hands above her 
head in a passion of conflicting feelings, and, being 
unable to find words for utterance, burst into a flood 
of tears, dropped into a chair, and covered her face 
with both hands. 

“Dear, dear, darling Julia!" said Miss Tippet 
soothingly. 

“ Don’t speak to me ! ’’ sobbed the Eagle pas- 
sionately, and stamping her foot ; “ I can’t bear to 
think of it.’’ 

“ But you know, dear,” persevered her friend, 
“they could not help being — being — what d’you 
call it ?— energetic, you know, for it was not rough. 
We should all have been roasted to death but for 
them, and I feel very, very grateful to them. I shall 
respect that policeman as long as I live.” 

“ Ah, sure an’ he -is a dacent boy now,” said Matty 
Merryon, who entered the room just then ; “ the way 
he lifted you an’ Miss Emma up an’ flung ye ovei 
his showlder, as aisy as if ye was two bolsters, was 
beautiful to look at ; indade it was. Shure it remim- 
bered me o’ the purty pottery ye was readin’ just the 
other night, as was writ by O’Dood or O’Hood — ” 

“ Hood,” suggested Miss Tippet. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


347 


“ P’r’aps it was,” said Matty ; “ he ’d be none the 
worse of an 0 before his name anyhow. But the 
pottery begood with — 

* Take her up tinderly, lift her with care,’ 

if I don’t misremimher.” 

“ Will you hold your tongue ! ” cried the Eagle, 
looking up suddenly and drying her eyes. 

“ Surely, miss,” said Matty, with a toss of her 
head ; “ anything to plaaze ye.” 

It is due to Matty to say that, while the policeman 
was descending the ladder with her mistress, she 
had faithfully remained to comfort and encourage 
Emma ; and after Emma was rescued she had quietly 
descended the ladder without assistance, having pre- 
viously found time to clothe herself in something a 
little more ample and appropriate than a bolster ! 

But where was David Boone all this time ? Rather 
say, where was he not ? Everywhere by turns, and 
nowhere long, was David to be seen, in the frenzy 
of his excitement. Conscience-smitten for what he 
had done, or rather intended to do, he ran wildly 
about, making the most desperate efforts to extin- 
guish the fire. 

No one knows what he can do till he is tried. 
That is a proverb (at least if it is not it ought to be) 
which embraces much deep truth. The way in which 
David Boone set personal danger at defiance, and 
seelned to regard suffocation by smoke or roasting 


348 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


by fire as terminations of life worth courting waa 
astounding, and rendered his friends and neighbours 
dumb with amazement. 

David was now on the staircase among the fire 
men, fighting his way up through fire and smoke, 
for the purpose of saving Miss Tippet, until he was 
hauled forcibly back by Dale or Baxmore, — who 
were in the thick of it as usual. Anon, down in 
the basement, knee -deep in water, searching for 
the bodies of his two shopmen, both of whom were 
standing comfortably outside, looking on. Pre- 
sently, he was on the leads of the adjoining house, 
directing, commanding, exhorting, entreating the 
firemen there to point their branch at the “blue 
bedroom.” Soon after, he was in the street, tear- 
ing his hair, shouting that it was all his fault ; that 
he did; it, and that it would kill him. 

Before the fire was put out, poor Boone’s eye- 
lashes and whiskers were singed off ; little hair was 
left on his head, and that little was short and 
frizzled. His clothes, of course, were completely 
soaked ; in addition to which, they were torn almost 
to shreds, and some of his skin was in the same 
condition. At last he had to be forcibly taken in 
charge, and kept shut up in an adjoining house, 
from the window of which he watched the destruc- 
tion of his property and his hopes. 

Almost superhuman efforts had been made ’by 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


349 


the firemen to save the house. Many a house in 
London had they saved that year, partially or 
wholly; as, indeed, is the case every year, and 
many thousands of pounds worth of property had 
they rescued ; but this case utterly defied them. So 
well had the plot been laid ; so thoroughly had the 
combustibles been distributed and lubricated with 
inflammable liquids^ that all the engines in the 
metropolis would have failed to extinguish that 
fire. 

David Boone knew this, and he groaned in spirit 
The firemen knew it not, and they worked like 
heroes. 

There was a shout at last among the firemen to 
"look out!” It was feared one of the partition 
walls was coming down, so each man beat a hasty 
retreat. They swarmed out at the door like bees, 
and were all safe when the wall fell — all safe, but 
one, Joe Corney, who, being a reckless man, took 
things too leisurely, and was knocked down by the 
falling bricks. 

Moxey and Williams ran back, and carried him 
out of danger. Then seeing that he did not recover 
consciousness, although he breathed, they carried 
him at once to the hospital. The flames of the 
burning house sprang up, just then, as if they 
leaped in triumph over a fallen foe ; but the 
polished surface of poor Joe's helmet seemed to 


350 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


flash back defiance at the flames as they bore him 
away. 

After the partition wall fell, the fire sank, and in 
the course of a few hours it was extinguished 
altogether. But nothing whatever was saved, and 
the firemen had only the satisfaction of knowing 
that they had done their best, and had preserved 
the adjoining houses, which would certainly have 
gone, but for their untiring energy. 

By this time, David Boone, besides being mad, 
was in a raging fever. The tenant of the house to 
which he had been taken was a friend, as well as a 
neighbour of his own, — a greengrocer, named Mrs. 
Graw, and she turned out to be a good Samaritan, 
for she insisted on keeping Boone in her house, and 
nursing him ; asserting stoutly, and with a very red 
face (she almost always asserted things stoutly, and 
with a red face) that Mister Boone was one of ’er 
best an’ holdest friends, as she wouldn’t see ’im go 
to a hospital on charity — which she despised, so she 
did — as long as there was a spare bed in her ’ouse, 
so there was— which it wasn’t as long as could be 
wished, considerin’ Mister Boone’s height ; but that 
could be put right by knockin’ out the foot-board, 
and two cheers, so it could — and as long she had 
one copper to rub on another ; no, though she wa." 
to be flayed alive for her hospitality. By whicn 
round statement, Mrs, Craw was understood to 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


351 


imply a severe rebuke to Mrs. Grab, — another 
greengrocer over the way (and a widow) — who had 
been heard to say, during the progress of the fire, 
that it served Boone right, and that she wouldn’t 
give him a helping hand in his distress on any 
account whatever. 

Why Mrs. Grab was so bitter and Mrs. Craw so 
humane is a matter of uncertainty; but it was 
generally believed that the former having had a 
matrimonial eye on Boone, ltd that Boone having 
expressed general objections to matrimony, — besides 
having gone of late to Mrs. Craw for his vegetables 
— had something to do with it. 

Next day, D. Gorman happened, quite in a casual 
way of course, to saunter into Poorthing Lane ; and 
it was positively interesting to note — as many 
people did note— the surprise and consternation 
with which he received the news of the fire from 
the people at the end of the lane who first met him, 
and who knew him welL 

“ Wery sad, ain’t it, sir?” said a sympathetic 
barber. “ He was sitch a droll dog too. He ’ll be 
quite a loss to the neighbourhood ; won’t he, sir ? ” 

“ I hope he won’t,” said Gorman, loud enough to 
be heard by several persons who lounged about their 
doors. "I hope to see him start fresh, an’ git on 
better than ever, poor fellow ; at least, I ’ll do all / 
can to help him.” 


352 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OK 


“ All ! you ’ve helped him already, sir, more than 
once, I believe ; at least so he told me,” said the 
barber, with an approving nod. 

“ Well, so I have,” returned Gorman modestly ; 
“ but he may be assured that any trifle he owes me 
won't be called for just now r . In fact, my small 
loan to him is an old debt, which I might have got 
any time these last six years, when he was flourish- 
ing ; so, I 'm not go^ng to press him now, pool 
fellow. He 's ill, you say ? ** 

“ Yes, so I 'm told ; raither serious too.” 

“ That's very sad ; where is he ?” 

“ With Mrs. Craw, sir, the greengrocer.” 

“ Ah, 1 11 go and see him. Good -day.” 

Gorman passed on, with as much benignity 
thrown into his countenance as it could contain ; 
and the "barber observed, as he re-entered his 
shop, that “that man was a better fellow than he 
looked.” 

But Gorman’s intentions, whatever they might 
have been, were frustrated at that time ; for he 
found Boone in high fever, and quite delirious. He 
did not, however, quit the house without putting, as 
he expressed it, at least one spoke in his wheel ; 
for he conducted himself in such a way towards 
Mrs. Craw, and expressed so much feeling for her 
friend “ and his,” that he made quite a favourable 
impression on that worthy woman. He also left a 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


353 


sovereign, wherewith to purchase any little luxuries 
for the sick man, that might be conducive to his 
health and comfort, and went away with the assur- 
ance that he would look in to inquire for him as 
often as he could. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

•HOWS HOW WILLIE WILLDER8 IN HI8 DIFFICULTIES SOUGHT COUNSEL 
OF MB. TIPPET. 

Mr. Thomas Tippet, beaming and perspiring aa 
of old, was standing at bis bench, chisel in hand, and 
Willie Willders was standing with his back to the 
fire, and his legs pretty wide apart ; not because he 
preferred that dtgage attitude, but because Chips and 
Puss were asleep side by side between his feet. 

It must not be supposed that although Willie had 
changed so much since the first day he stood there, 
an equal change had taken place in Mr. Tippet. By 
no means. He was a little stouter, perhaps, but in 
all other respects he was the same man. Not a hair 
greyer, nor a wrinkle more. 

The workshop, too, was in exactly the same state, 
only a little more crowded in consequence of numer- 
ous models having been completed and shelved 
during the last seven years. There was, however, 
something new in the shape of a desk with some 
half- finished plans upon it ; for Willie had gradu- 

864 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


355 


ally introduced a little genuine engineering into the 
business. 

At first, naturally enough, the boy had followed 
his employer’s lead, and, as we have said before, 
being very ingenious, as well as enthusiastic, had 
entered with all his heart and head into the absurd 
schemes of his patron ; but as he became older he 
grew wiser. He applied himself to reading and 
study at home in the evenings with indomitable 
perseverance.. 

The result of his application was twofold. In 
the first place he discovered that he was very igno- 
rant, and that there existed a huge illimitable field 
of knowledge worth entering on seriously. His 
early training having been conducted (thanks to 
his mother) “ in the fear of the Lord,” he regarded 
things that are spiritual, and have God and man’s 
duty to Him for their object, as part — the chief part 
— of that great field of knowledge ; not as a separate 
field which may or may not be entered on according 
to taste. In the second place, he began to discover 
that his kind-hearted employer was a monomaniac. 
In other words, that, although sane enough in all 
other matters, he was absolutely mad in regard to 
mechanical discoveries and inventions, and that most 
of the latter were absolutely nonsensical ! 

This second discovery induced him to prosecute his 
studieswith all the more energy, in order thathe might 


356 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


be prepared for the battle of life, in case his existing 
connexion with Mr. Tippet should be dissolved. 

His studies naturally took an engineering turn, 
and, being what is termed a thorough-going fellow, 
he did not rest until he had "dived into mathematics 
so deep that we do not pretend to follow him, even 
in the way of description. Architecture, surveying, 
shipbuilding, and cognate subjects, claimed and 
obtained his earnest attention ; and year after year, 
on winter nights, did he sit at the side of the fire in 
the little house at Notting Hill, adding to his stores 
of knowledge on these subjects ; while his meek old 
mother sat darning socks or patching male attire on 
the other side of the fire with full as much persever- 
ance and assiduity. One consequence of this was, 
that Willie Willders, having begun as a Jack-of-all 
trades, pushed on until he became a philosopher- 
of-all-trades, and of many sciences too, so that it 
would have been difficult to find his match between 
Charing Cross and Primrose Hill 

And Willie was not changeable. True to his first 
love, he clung with all the ardour of youth to fire, 
fire-engines, and the fire brigade. He would have 
become a member of the latter if he could, but that 
was in the circumstances impossible. He studied 
the subject, however, and knew its history and its 
working details from first to last. He did his best 
to invent new engines and improve on old ones ; but 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


357 


in such matters he usually found that his inventions 
had been invented, and his improvements made and 
improved upon, long before. Such checks, however, 
did not abate his ardour one jot. He persevered in 
his varied courses until he worked himself into a 
species of business which could exist only in London, 
which it would be difficult to describe, and which 
its practitioner styled “ polyartism ” with as much 
boldness as if the word were in Johnson’s Dic- 
tionary ! 

Standing on the hearth, as we have said, Willie* 
related to his friend all he knew in regard to the 
Cattley family, and wound up with an anxious de- 
mand what was to be done for them. 

Mr. Tippet, leaning on his bench and looking 
into Willie’s face with a benignant smile, said — 

“ Done, my boy ? why, help ’em of course.” 

“ Ay, but how ? ” asked Willie. 

“How?” cried Mr. Tippet ; “ why, by giving 'em 
money. You are aware that I stopped their allow- 
ance because Cattley senior went and drank it as 
soon as he got it, and Cattley junior is able to sup- 
port himself, and I was not until now aware that 
the poor daughter was killing herself to support 
her father ; but as 1 do know it now I ’ll continue 
the allowance and increase it, and we shall give it 
into the daughter’s hands, so that the father won’t 
be able to mis- spend it.” 


31 * 


358 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Mr. Tippet’s visage glowed with ardour as he 
stated this arrangement, hut the glow was displaced 
by a look of anxiety as he observed that Willie 
shook his head and looked as perplexed as ever. 

“ If that plan would have availed I would have 
tried it long ago/’ said he, with a sad smile, “ for 
my income is a pretty good one, thanks to you, 
sir — ” 

“ Thanks to your own genius, Willie, for the 
very remarkable and prolific offshoots which you 
* have caused to sprout from this dry old root,” said 
Mr. Tippet, interrupting, as he glanced round the 
room with an air of affection, which showed that he 
loved the root dearly, despite its age and dryness. 

“ Not the less thanks to you, sir,” said Willie, in 
the deferential tone which he had assumed involun- 
tarily towards his patron almost from the commence- 
ment of their intercourse ; “ but Z — a — Miss Gattley 
positively refuses to accept of money from any one 
in charity, as long as she can work.” 

" Ah !” exclaimed Mr. Tippet, shaking his head 
slowly, “ pride, simple pride. Not laudable pride, 
observe. She deceives herself, no doubt, into the 
belief that it is laudable, but it is not; for, when 
girl cannot work without working herself into her 
grave, it is her duty not to work, and it is the duty, 
as well as the privilege, of her friends to support 
her. Truth is truth, Willie, and we must not shrink 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


359 


from stating it because a few illogical thinkers are 
apt to misunderstand it, or because there are a num- 
ber of mean-spirited wretches who would be too 
glad to say that they could not work without injur- 
ing their health if they could, by so doing, persuade 
theii friends to support them. What ! are those 
whom God has visited with weakness of body to be 
made to toil and moil far beyond their strength in 
order to prove that they do not belong to the class 
of deceivers and sycophants ? Yet public opinion 
in regard to this matter of what is called self- 
respect and proper pride compels many hundreds 
who urgently require assistance to refuse it, and 
dooms many of them to a premature grave, while it 
does not shut the maw of a single one of the other 
class. Why, sir, Miss Cattley is committing Suicide ! 
and, in regard to her father, who is dependent on 
her, she is committing murder — murder, sir !” 

Mr. Tippet’s eyes flashed with indignation, and he 
drove the chisel deep down into the. bench, as if to 
give point and force to his sentiment, as well as an 
illustration of the dreadful idea with which he con 
eluded. 

Willie admitted that there was much truth in Mr. 
Tippet’s observations, but did not quite agree with 
him in his sweeping condemnation of Ziza. 

“ However,” continued Mr. Tippet, resuming his 
quiet tone and benignant aspect, “ I ’ll consider the 


360 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


matter. Yes, I ’ll consider the matter, and see what *a 
to be done for ’em.” 

He leaped from the bench with a quiet chuckle as 
he said this and began to saw vigorously, while 
Willie went to his desk in the corner and applied 
himself to an abstruse calculation, considerably re- 
lieved in mind, for he had unbounded belief in the 
fertility of Mr. Tippet’s imagination, and he knew 
well that whatever that old gentleman promised he 
would certainly fulfil. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


ILLUSTRATES THE PROVERB THAT THE BEST-LAID PLANS WILL 
SOMETIMES MISCARRY. 

There were other men besides Mr. Tippet who 
could be true to their promises when it suited them. 
D Gorman was true to his, in so far as they con- 
cerned David Boone. He visited that unfortunate 
invalid so frequently, and brought, him so many 
little “ nice things” for the alleviation of his suffer- 
ings, and exhibited altogether such nervous anxiety 
about his recovery, that worthy Mrs. Craw was 
quite overwhelmed, and said, in the fulness of her 
heart, that she never did see a kinder friend, or one 
who more flatly gave the lie -direct to his looks, 
which, she was bound to admit, were not prepos- 
sessing. 

But, despite his friend’s solicitude, and his doctor’s 
prescriptions, and his nurse’s kindness, David Boone 
continued steadily to sink, until at last the doctor 
gave it as his opinion that he would not recover. 

One afternoon soon after the expression of this 

Ml 


362 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


opinion, Gorman called on his friend, and was shown 
as usual into his chamber. It was a wet, cold, 
stormy afternoon, and the window rattled violently 
in its frame. 

Boone was much better that afternoon. It seemed 
as if he had just waited for the doctor to pronounce 
his unfavourable opinion, in order to have the satis- 
faction of contradicting it. 

“ He *s better to-day, sir,” said Mrs. Craw, in a 
whisper. 

“Better!” exclaimed Gorman with a look of sur- 
prise, “ I ’m glad to hear that — very glad.” 

He looked as if he were very sorry, but then, as 
Mrs. Craw said, his looks belied him. 

“ He ’s asleep now, sir ; the doctor said if he slept 
he was on no account to be waked up, so I ’ll leave 
you to sit by him, sir, till he wakes, and, please, be 
as quiet as you can.” 

Mrs. Craw left the room on tip-toe, and Gorman 
went to the bedside and looked on the sick man’s 
wasted features with a frown. 

“ Ha ! you ’re asleep, are you, and not to be waked 
up — eh ? Come, I ’ll rouse you.” 

He shook him violently by the shoulder, and 
Boone awoke with a start and a groan. 

“ Hope I didn’t disturb you, Boone?” said his friend 
in a quiet voice. “ I came to inquire for you.” 

Boone started up in his bed and stared wildly at 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


363 


some object which appeared to be at the foot of the 
bed. Gorman started too and turned pale as his 
eyes followed those of the invalid. 

“ What is it you see, Boone ?” 

“ There, there !” he whispered hoarsely, clutching 
Gorman’s arm as if for protection, “look, I heard 
his voice just now ; oh ! save me from that man ; he 
—he — wants to kill me !” 

“ Come, David,” said Gorman soothingly, “ it ’s 
only a fancy — there ’s nobody there — nobody in the 
room but me.” 

“ And who are you ?” inquired the sick man, fall- 
ing back exhausted, while he gazed vacantly at his 
friend. 

“Don’t you know me, David?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“ Never mind, shut your eyes now and try to 
sleep It ’ll be time to take your physic soon.” 

“ Physic !” cried Boone, starting up in alarm, and 
again clutching Gorman’s arm. “ You won’t let him 
give it me, will you? Oh ! say you won’t, — promise 
to give it me yourself!” 

Gorman promised, and a very slight but peculiar 
smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he did 
so. 

Boone again sank back on his pillow, and Gorman 
sat down on a chair beside him. His villanous 
features worked convulsively, for in his heart he 


‘364 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


was meditating a terrible deed. That morning ho 
had been visited by Ned Hooper, who in the most 
drunken of voices told him “ that it wash 'mposh’ble 
to git a body f’r love or munny, so if ’e wanted one 
he ’d better cut ’s own throat.” 

His plans having miscarried in this matter, Gor- 
man now meditated taking another and more decided 
step. He looked at the sick man, and, seeing how 
feeble he \Vas, his fingers twitched as if with a desire 
to strangle him. So strong was the feeling upon 
him that he passed his fingers nervously about his 
own throat, as if to ascertain the formation of it and 
the precise locality of the windpipe. Then his hand 
dropped to his side, and he sat still again, while 
Boone rolled his poor head from side to side and 
moaned softly. 

Evening drew on apace, and the shadows in the 
sick-room gradually became deeper and deeper until 
nothing could be seen distinctly. Still Gorman sat 
there, with his features pale as death and his fingers 
moving nervously ; and still the sick man lay and 
rolled his head from side to side on the pillow. 
Once or twice Gorman rose abruptly, but he as often 
sat down again without doing anything. 

Suddenly a ray of bright light shot through the 
window. Gorman started and drew back in alarm. 
It was only a lamp-lighter who had lighted one of 
the street-lamps, and the ray which he had thus 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


365 


sent into the sick-chamber passed over the bed. It 
did not disturb Boone, for the curtains were between 
bim and it, but it disturbed Gorman, for it fell 
on the chimney-piece and illuminated a group of 
phials, one of which, half full of a black liquid, wa« 
labelled “Poison!” 

Gorman started up, and this, time did not sit 
down, but with a trembling step moved to the fire- 
place. He stretched out his hand to grasp the bottle, 
and almost overturned it, for just at the moment his 
own figure intercepted the ray of light, and threw 
the spot where it stood into deep shadow. 

“ What’s that ? ” asked Boone. 

“ It ’s only me,” said Gorman, “ getting you your 
physic. I almost upset it in the dark. Here now, 
drink it off. I can’t find the cup, but you can take 
it out of the bottle.” 

“ You won’t let him come near when you give it, 
will you ? ” asked Boone anxiously. 

“ No, no; come, open your mouth.” 

Boone hesitated to do so, but Gorman used a little 
force. His hands were steady now ! His heart was 
steeled to the deed, and the cry , which Boone was 
about to utter was choked by the liquid flowing 
down his throat. 

Gorman had flung him back, with such violence 
that he lay stunned, while the murderer replaced 
the bottle on the chimney-piece and hurried to the 
32 


366 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


door. A gentle knock at it arrested him, but his in - 
decision was momentary. He opened the door softly, 
and going out, said to Mrs. Craw in a whisper — 

“ He ’s sleeping now. I found it hard to get him 
to give up talking, for he waked up soon after I went 
in ; but he ’s all right now. I suppose the medicine 
is beginning to operate ; he told me he took it him- 
self just before I came in.” 

“ Took it himself ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Craw. “ Im- 
possible ! ” 

“Well, I don’t know, but he’s better now. I 
would let him rest a while if I were you.” 

u Stay, sir ! I ’ll go fetch a light,” said Mrs. Craw. 

“ Never mind ; I know the stair well,” said Gor- 
man hurriedly ; “ don’t mind a light ; I shan’t 
want it.” 

He was right. If any man ever wanted darkness 
rather than light — thick, heavy, impenetrable dark- 
ness — it was D. Gorman at that time. 

“Took it himself!” repeated Mrs. Craw in un- 
abated surprise as she closed the street door. “ It ’s 
impossible. He’s got no more strength than an 
unborn liinfant. I must go an’ see to this.” 

Lighting a candle, she went softly into the sick 
chamber and looked at the invalid, who was ap- 
parently asleep, but breathing heavily. She then 
went to the chimney-piece and began to examine 
the phials ther#» 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


367 


“My !” she exclaimed suddenly, with a look of 
alarm, “ if he han’t bin an’ drunk up all the tinctur 
o’ rhubarb ! An’ the laudanum-bottle standin’ close 
beside it too ! What a mercy he didn’t drink that ! 
Well, lucky for him there wasn’t much in it, for an 
overdose of anythink in his state would be serious.” 

Full of her discovery, Mrs. Craw set the candle on 
the table, and sat down on the chair by the bedside 
to think about it ; but the more she thought about 
it the more puzzled she was. 

“ Took it himself,” she said, reverting to Gorman’s 
words. “ Impossible ! ” 

She continued to shake her head and mutter 
“ Impossible ” for some time, while she stared at the 
candle as if she expected that it would solve the 
mystery. Then she got up and examined the bed- 
clothes, and found that a good deal of the rhubarb 
had been spilt on the sheets, and that a good deal 
more of it had been spilt on Boone’s chin and chest ; 
after which her aspect changed considerably, as, 
getting down the candle, she resumed her seat and 
said — 

“ Took it himself ! Impossible ! ” 

* * * * 

Darkness ! If ever a man sought darkness in 
vain, and found light, bright blazing light, every- 
where, it was Gorman. At first, in a burst of 
frenzy, he rushed away at full speed. It was well 


368 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


for him that the wind had increased to a hurricane 

# 

and the rain was blinding, else had he been stopped 
on suspicion, so fierce was his mien, so haggard his 
look, so wild his race. Gradually his pace slackened, 
and gradually as well as naturally he gravitated to 
his old familiar haunts ; but go where he would, 
there was light everywhere except within his own 
breast. It was all darkness there. 

It is true the sky was dark enough, for the war of 
elements was so great that it seemed to have been 
blotted out with ink, but the shops appeared to have 
been lit up more brilliantly than usual. Every 
lamp poured a flood of light around it. The lan- 
terns of the cabs and omnibuses sent rich beams 
of light through the air, and the air itself, laden as 
it was with moisture, absorbed a portion of light, 
and invested everything with a halo. Light, light! 
all round, and the light of conscience within render- 
ing the darkness there visible, and shining on the let 
ters of a word written in dark red — “ Murderer!” 

Gorman tried to extinguish the light, but it was 
a fire that would not be put out. He cursed the 
shop- windows and the lamps for shining so brightly 
on him ; he cursed the few people whose curiosity 
induced them to pause and look back at him, and 
he cursed himself for being such a fool. 

On reaching Cheapside he began to recover his 
self-possession, and to walk in the storm as other 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


369 


men did. But in proportion as his composure 
returned the enormity of his crime became more 
apparent to him, and the word written in red 
letters became so bright that he felt as if every 
passer-by must read it, unless he dropt his eyes 
to prevent their seeing through them intq his 
soul. 

At London Bridge he became nervously appre 
hensive. Each unusually quick footstep startled 
him. Every policeman was carefully avoided, and 
anything approaching to a shout behind caused him 
to start into a involuntary run. Despite his utmost 
efforts to control himself, the strong man was un- 
manned ; a child could have made him fly. 

He was about to cross London Bridge, when he 
observed a policeman taking shelter under the 
parapet, and apparently w atching those who passed 
him. Gorman could not make up his mind to go 
on, so he turned aside and descended the nearest 
stairs. 

The policeman had doubtless been watching lor 
some one, or suspected Gorman because of his 
undecided movements, for he followed him. The 
latter observed this and quickened his pace. The 
instant he was hidden from his pursuer, he darted 
away at full speed, and did not halt until he stood 
at the foot of one of the stairs w’here wherries are 
usually to be found. The sight that met his gaze 
y 32* 


370 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


there might have overawed the most reckless of 
men. 

A hurricane was raging, such as is not often 
experienced in our favoured island. The wind 
blew, not in gusts and squalls, but in one con- 
tinuous roar, lashing the Thames into crested waves, 
tearing ships from their moorings, and dashing 
them against other ships, which were likewise car- 
ried away, and swept downward with the tide. 
Dozens of barges were sunk, and the shrieks of 
their crews were heard sometimes rising above 
the storm. 

The gale was at its height when Gorman came 
into full view of the Thames. A waterman, who 
was crouching for shelter in the angle of a ware- 
house, observed him, and came forward. 

“ An awful night, sir,” he said. 

“ Yes,” answered Gorman curtly. He started as he 
spoke, for he heard, or he fancied he heard, a shout 
behind him. 

“ Is that your boat ? ” said he. 

“It is,” replied the waterman in surprise; “you 
don’t want to go on the water on such a night, do 
you?” 

“Yes I do,” said Gorman, trembling in every 
limb ; “ come, jump in, and shove off.” 

At that moment a policeman came running down 
towards them. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


371 


“ Are you mad ?” exclaimed the man, grasping 
Gorman by the arm as he sprang toward the boat. 

In a moment, Gorman struck him to the ground, 
and leaping into the boat pushed off, just as the 
policeman came up. He was whirled away in- 
stantly. 

Grasping one of the oars, he was just in time to 
prevent the boat being dashed against one of the 
wooden piers of a wharf. He was desperate now. 
Shipping both oars he pulled madly out into the 
stream, but in a few moments he was swept against 
the port-bow of a large vessel, against the stem of 
which the water was curling, as if the ship had been 
breasting the Atlantic waves before a stiff breeze. 
One effort Gorman made to avoid the collision, then 
he leaped up, and, just as the boat struck, sprang at 
the fore-chains. He caught them and held on, but his 
hold was not firm ; the next moment he was rolling 
along the vessel’s side, tearing it with his nails in 
the vain attempt to grasp the smooth hull. He 
struck against the bow of the vessel immediately 
behind and was swept under it. 

Rising to the surface, he uttered a wild shriek, 
and attempted to stem the current. He was a 
powerful swimmer, and despair lent him energy to 
buffet the waves for a short time, but he was again 
swept away by the irresistible tide, and had almost 
given up hope of being saved, when his forehead was 


372 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


grazed by a rope which hung from a vessel’s side. 
Seizing this lie held on, and with much difficulty 
succeeded in gaining the vessel’s deck. 

With his safety Gorman’s fear of being captured 
returned. He hid himself behind some lumber, and 
while in this position wrung some of the water out 
of his clothes. In a few minutes he summoned 
courage to look about him, and discovered that the 
vessel was connected with the one that lay next to 
it by a plank. No one appeared to be moving, and 
it was so dark that he could not see more than four 
or five yards before him. To pass from one vessel 
to the other was the work of a few seconds. Finding 
that the second vessel lay moored to the quay he 
sprang from it with all his might and alighted safely 
on the shore. From the position of the shipping he 
knew that he stood on the south bank of the river, 
having been swept right across the Thames, so he 
had now no further difficulty in hiding his guilty 
head in his own home. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


n WHICH CHANGES OP FORTUNE OCCUR AND NEW LIGHTS OP VARIOUS 
KINDS ARISE. 

Time sped on apace, and in its train came many 
changes. 

To the confusion of the doctor and despite the 
would-be murderer, David Boone recovered. But 
that brought no relief to Gorman, whose remorse 
increased daily, insomuch that he became, if not 
quite, very nearly, insane, and his fear of being 
caught was so great that he never ventured near the 
quarter of London in which Boone dwelt. He 
therefore remained in ignorance of the failure of his 
murderous attempt. What would he not have given 
to have known the truth ! to have had the dreadful 
wwd removed from the light which shone upon it 
brighter and brighter every day until it was made 
red-hot, as it were, and became within him as a con- 
suming fire ! Preferring darkness to light more than 
ever, Gorman kept in secret places during the day, 
and only ventured out, with other human vultures, 

373 


374 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


at night. The wretched man feared the darkness 
too, although he sought it, and what between the 
darkness that he feared yet courted, and the light 
that he feared and fled from, and the light within 
that he feared but could not fly from, he became one 
of the most miserable of all the outcasts in London. 

As for his deep-laid plans, they were all scattered 
to the winds. In the presumption of ignorance he 
had fancied that he knew his own power, and so in 
one sense he did, but he was not aware of his own 
want of power. He knew, indeed, that he had the 
brute courage to dare and do anything desperate or 
dastardly, but he did not know that he lacked the 
moral courage to bear the consequences of his deeds. 
The insurance policies, therefore, lay unclaimed — 
even uncared for ! 

Another change for the worse effected by time 
was the death of Loo Auberly. Gradually and 
gently her end approached. Death was so slow in 
coming that it was long expected, yet it was so very 
slow that when it came at last it took her friends by 
surprise. James Auberly continued stiff and stately 
to the last. He refused to believe that his child 
was dying, and spared no expense to provide every- 
thing that money could procure to restore her health. 
He also refused to be reconciled to his son Fred, who 
had succeeded in his loved profession beyond his 
expectations, and who had sought, again and again, 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


375 


to propitiate his father. At last Fred resolved to go 
abroad and study the works of the ancient masters. 
He corresponded regularly with Loo for some time, 
but his letters suddenly ceased to make their appear- 
ance, and nothing was heard of him for many 
months. 

During the long and weary illness Loo had three 
friends whose visits were to her soul like gleams of 
sunshine on a cloudy day — Miss Tippet, Emma 
Ward, and a poor artificial-flower maker named 
Ziza Cattley. 

Those three, so different yet so like, were almost 
equally agreeable to the poor invalid. Miss Tippet 
was “ so funny but so good,” and Emma's sprightly 
nature seemed to charm away her pain for a time , 
while grave, ‘gentle, earnest Ziza madjp her happy 
during her visits, and left a sensation of happiness 
after she went away. All three were equally un- 
tiring in talking with her about the “ old, old story” 
— the love of Jesus Christ. 

Yes, it comes to this at last, if not at first, with 
all of us. Even the professed infidel, laugh as he 
may in the spring-tide of life, usually listens to that 
“ old, old story” when life’s tide is very low, if not 
with faith at least with seriousness, and with a hope 
that it may be true. May be true ! Why, if the in- 
fidel would only give one tithe of the time and trouble 
and serious inquiry to the investigation of that same 


376 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


old story and its credentials that he gives so freely 
to the study of the subtleties of his art or profession, 
he would find that there is no historical fact what- 
ever within his ken which can boast of anything 
like the amount or strength of evidence in favour of 
its truth that exists in favour of the truth of the 
story of the Life, Death, and Kesurrection of Jesus 
Christ our Lord. 

When Loo died the stateliness and stiffness c. 
James Auberly gave way, and the stern man 
leaning his head upon the coffin, as he sat alone 
in the darkened room, wept as if he had been a little 
jhild. 

There was yet another change brought about by 
that great overturner Time. But as the change to 
which we rq|er affects those who have' yet to take a 
prominent part in our tale, we will suffer them tc 
apeak for themselves. 

One afternoon, long after the occurrence of those 
changes to which reference has just been made, Mrs. 
Willders, while seated quietly at her own fireside 
(although there was no fire there, the month being 
June), was interrupted in her not unusual though 
innocent occupation of darning socks by the abrupt 
entrance of her son Frank, who flung his cap on the 
table, kissed his mother on the forehead, and then 
flung himself on the sofa, which piece of furniture 
being old and decrepit, groaned under his weight 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


377 


“ Mother/’ he exclaimed with animation, “ I ’ve 
got strange news to tell you. Is Willie at home ?” 

“ No, but I expect him every minute. He pro- 
mised to come home earlier to-day, and won’t be 
long, for he is a boy of his word.” 

Mrs. Willders persisted in calling her strapping 
sons “ boys,” despite the evidence to the contrary 
on their cheeks and chins. 

“Here he comes 1” cried Frank, as a rapid step 
was heard. 

Next moment the door burst open and Willie, 
performing much the same ceremony that Frank had 
done, and in a wonderfully similar way, said he had 
come home with something strange to tell, though 
not altogether strange either, as his mother, he said, 
knew something about it already. 

Mrs. Willders smiled and glanced at Frank. 

“ Which is to begin first ?” she asked. 

“ What ! do you know about it too ?” cried Willie, 
turning to his brother. 

“ Know about what ?” said Frank. “ You have not 
told me what it is ; how can I answer you ? ” 

“About Mr. Auberly,” said Willie. 

Frank said that he knew nothing new or peculiar 
about him , except that he was — no, he wouldn’t say 
anything bad of him, for he must be a miserable 
man at that time. 

“ But out with your news, Willie,” he added, 
33 * 


378 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ mine will keep ; and as yours is, according to your- 
self, partly known already to my mother, it ’s as well 
to finish off one subject before we begin to another. 

“ Oh, then, you have news too, have you ?” said 
Willie. 

Frank nodded. 

“Strange coincidence !” exclaimed Willie. 

“Did you ever hear of a coincidence that was 
not strange, lad ? Go on with your news, else I ’ll 
begin before you.” 

Thus admonished, Willie began. 

“ Oh, mother, you *re a nice deceiver ; you ’re a sly 
old lady, ain’t you ? and you sit there with a face as 
meek and sweet and smiling as if you had never 
deceived anybody in all your life, not to speak of 
your two sons. 0 fy ! ” 

As Mrs. Willders still smiled and went on with 
her knitting serenely, without vouchsafing a reply, 
Willie continued with an off-hand air — 

“ Well then, I may as well tell you that I have 
just had an interview with uncle Auberly' — hallo 1 
you seem surprised.” 

Mrs. Willders was indeed surprised. Her serenity 
of aspect fled in an instant. 

“ Oh, Willie, how comes it that you know ? 1 ’m 
sure I did not mean to tell you. I promised I 
never would. I must have let it out inadvert 
ently, or when I was asleep.” 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


379 


“ Make yourself quite easy, mother,” said Willie ; 
'* I ’ll explain it all presently. J ust go on with 
your knitting, and don’t put yourself into a state.” 

The widow, recovering herself a little, resumed 
her work, and Frank, who had listened with an 
amused smile up to this point — supposing that his 
brother was jesting — elongated his face and opened 
his eyes wider and wider as he listened. 

“You must know,” resumed Willie, “that I re- 
ceived a note from Mr. Auberly last night, asking 
me to call on him some time this afternoon. So I 
went, and found him seated in his library. Poor 
man, he has a different look now from what he had 
when I went last to see him. You know I have 
hardly ever seen him since that day when I 
bamboozled him so about ‘ another boy * that he 
expected to call. But his spirit is not much im- 
proved, I fear. ‘ Sit down, Mr. Willders,’ he said. 
‘ I asked you to call in reference to a matter which 
T think it well that the parties concerned should 
understand thoroughly. Your brother Frank, I am 
told, has had the presumption to pay his addresses 
to Miss Ward, the young lady who lives with my 
relative, Miss Tippet.’ ‘ Yes, Mr. Auberly,’ I replied, 
‘ and Miss Ward has had the presumption to accept 
him—’” 

“ It was wrong of you to answer so, Willie,” in- 
terrupted Mrs. Willders, shaking her head. 


380 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ Wrong, mother ! how could I help it ? Was 1 
going to sit there and hear him talk of Frank’s pre- 
sumption as if he were a chimney-sweep ?” 

“Mr. Auberly tl links Miss Ward above him in 
station, and so deems his aspiring to her hand pre- 
sumption,” replied the widow gently. “ Besides, 
you should have remembered the respect due to 
age.” 

“ Well, but, mother,” said Willie, defending him- 
self, “ it was very impudent of him, and I did speak 
very respectfully to him in tone if not in words. 
The fact is I felt nettled, for, after all, what is Miss 
Ward ? The society she mingles in is Miss Tippet’s 
society, and that ’s not much to boast of ; and her 
father, I believe, was a confectioner — no doubt a rich 
one, that kept his carriage before he failed, and left 
his daughter almost a beggar. But riches don’t make 
a gentleman or a lady either, mother ; I ’m sure 
you ’ve often told me that, and explained that edu- 
cation, and good training, and good feelings, and 
polite manners, and consideration for others, were 
the true foundations of gentility. If that be so, 
mother, there are many gentlemen born who are not 
gentlemen bred, and many lowly born who — ” 
“Come, lad, don’t bamboozle your mother with 
sophistries,” interrupted Frank, “ but go on to the 
point, and don’t be so long about it.” , 

“ Well, mother,” resumed Willie, “ Mr. Auberly 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


381 


gave me a harder rebuke than you have done, for he 
made no reply to my speech at all, but went on as 
quietly and coolly as if I had not opened my lips. 
‘ Now/ said he, ‘ I happen to have a particular 
regard for Miss Ward. I intend to make her my 
heir, and I cannot consent to her union with a man 
who has nothing! * Mr. Auberly/ said I (and I 
assure you, mother, I said this quite respectfully), 
* my brother is a man who has little money , no 
doubt, but he has a good heart and a good head and 
a strong arm ; an arm, too, which *,has saved life 
before now/ I stopped at that, for I saw it went 
home. ‘ Quite true/ he replied ; ‘ I do not forget 
that he saved my lost child’s life ; but — but — the 
thing is outrageous — that a penniless man should 
wed the lady who is to be my heir! No, sir, I sent 
for you to ask you to say to your brother from me, 
that however much I may respect him I will not 
consent to this union, and if it goes on despite my 
wishes I nhall not leave Miss Ward a shilling/ He 
had worked himself up into a rage by this time, and 
as I felt 1 would only make matters worse if I spoke, 
f held my tongue ; except that I said I would de- 
liver his message at once, as I expected to meet my 
brother a home. He seemed sorry for having been 
so sharp, however, and when I was about to leave 
him he ti ied to smile, and said, ‘ I regret to have to 
speak th is to you, sir, but I felt it to be my duty. 

33 * 


382 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


You talk of meeting your brother to-night at home ; 
do you not live together V ‘ No, sir,’ I replied ; ‘ my 
brother lodges close to his station, and I live with 
my mother in Notting Hill/ 

Notting Hill!’ he cried, falling back in his chair 
as if he had been struck by a thunderbolt. ‘ Your 
mother — ’ he gasped, f Mrs. Willder — my sister-in- 
law — the waterman’s widow ? ’ 

“ ‘ A sailor's widow, sir,’ said I, ‘ who is proud of 
the husband, who rose to the top of his profession.’ 

“ * Why did you deceive me, sir ? ’ cried Mr. 
Auberly, with a sudden frown. ‘ I would have un- 
deceived you,’ said I, ‘ when we first met, but you 
dismissed me abruptly at that time, and would 
not hear me out. Since then, I have not thought 
it worth while to intrude on you in reference 
ence to so small a matter — for I did not knoto till 
this day that we are related.’ He frowned harder 
than ever at this, and bit his lip, and then said, 
‘ Well, young man, this will make no difference, I 
assure you. I desire you to convey my message to 
your brother. Leave me now.’ I was just on the 
point of saying Good-bye, uncle, but he covered his 
face with his hands, and looked so miserable, that 
I went out without a word more. — There, you ’ve 
got the whole of my story. What think you of 
it?” 

“It’s a curious one, and very unexpected, at 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


383 


least by me,” said Frank, “ though, as yon said, part 
of it must have been known to mother, who, no 
doubt, had good reasons for concealing it from us ; 
but I rather think that my story will surprise you 
more, and it ’s a better one than yours, Willie, in 
this respect, that it is shorter.” 

“ Come then, out with it,” said Willie, with a 
laugh ; “ why, this is something like one of the 
Arabian Nights' Entertainments.” 

“ Well, mother,” said Frank, laying his hand 
gently on the widow’s shoulder, “you shan’t darn 
any more socks if I can help it, for I ’m a man of 
fortune now ! ” 

“How, Frank?” said Mrs. Willders, with a 
puzzled look. 

“ The fact is, mother, that Mrs. Denman, the poor 
old lady whom I carried down the escape, I forget 
how many years ago, is dead, and has left me her 
fortune, which, I believe, amounts to something like 
twenty thousand pounds ! ” 

“You don't mean that!” cried Willie, starting 
up. 

“ Indeed I do,” said Frank earnestly. 

“ Then long life to ye, my boy !” cried Willie, 
wringing his brother’s hand, “ and success to the old 
— well, no, I don’t exactly mean that, but if she were 
alive I would say my blessing on the old lady. I 
wish you joy, old fellow ! I say, surely the stately 


384 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALK OF 


man wont object to the penniless fireman now — ha ! 
ha ! Well, it’s like a dream; but tell ns all about 
it, Frank.” 

“ There is very little to tell, lad. I got a very 
urgent message the day before yesterday to go to 
see an old lady who was very ill. I obtained leave 
for an hour and went at once, not knowing who it 
was till I got there, when I found that it was 
Mrs. Denman. She looked very ill, and I do 
assure you I felt quite unmanned when I looked 
into her little old face. ‘ Young man/ she said, in 
a low voice, ‘ you saved my life ; I am dying, and 
have sent for you to thank you. God bless you/ 
She put out her thin hand and tried to shake 
mine, but it was too feeble; she could only 
press her fingers on it That was all that passed, 
and I returned to the station feeling quite in low 
spirits, I do assure you. Well, next day a little 
man in black called, and said he wished to have 
a few words with me. So I went out, and he 
introduced himself as the old lady’s lawyer, told 
me that she was gone, and that she had, almost 
with her last breath, made him promise to go, the 
moment she was dead, and see the fireman who had 
saved her life, and tell him that she had left hei 
fortune to him. He congratulated me ; said that 
there were no near relations to feel aggrieved or to 
dispute my rights, and that, as soon as the proper 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 3b 

legal steps had been taken — the debts and legacies 
paid, etc. — he would have the pleasure of handing 
over the balance, which would probably amount to 
twenty thousand pounds/' 

“ It 's like a dream," said Willie. 

u So it is," replied Frank, “ but it 's well that 
it is not a dream, for if I had been the penni- 
less man that Mr. Auberly thinks me, I would 
have been obliged in honour to give up Emma 
Ward." 

“ Give her up ! ” exclaimed Willie in amazement. 
* Why ?” 

“ Why ! because I could not think of standing in 
the way of her good fortune." 

"Oh, Frank ! oh, Blazes," said Willie sadly, “ has 
money told on you so fearfully already ? Do you 
think that she would give you up for the sake of 
Auberly’ s dross?” 

“ I believe not, lad ; but — but- - well — never mind, 
we won’t be troubled with the question now. But, 
mother, you don’t seem to think much of my good 
fortune.” 

“ I do think much of it, Frank ; it has been sent 
to you by the Lord, and therefore is to be received 
with thanksgiving. But sudden good fortune of this 
kind is very dangerous. It makes me anxious as 
well as glad.” 

At that moment there came a loud knocking at 
z 


386 FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 

the door, which startled Mrs. Willders, and caused 
Willie to leap up and rush to open it. 

Frank rose and put on his cap with the quiet 
promptitude of a man accustomed to alarms. 

“That’s a fire, mother; the kind of knock is 
quite familiar to me now. Don’t be alarmed; we 
hear that kind of thing about two or three times a 
day at the station ; they knew I was here, and have 
sent a messenger.” 

“ A fire ! ” cried Willie, running into the room 
in great excitement. 

“ Tut, lad,” said Frank, with a smile, as he nodded 
to his mother and left the room, “ you ’d never do 
for a fireman, you ’re too excitable. Where ’s 
the messenger? — ah, here you are. Well, where 
is it?” 

“ Tooley Street,” exclaimed a man, whose condi- 
tion showed that he had run all the way. 

Frank started, and looked very grave, as he said 
hurriedly to his brother — 

“ Good-night, lad. I won’t likely be able to get 
out to-morrow to talk over this matter of the fortune. 
Fires are usually bad in that neighbourhood Look 
well after mother. Good-night.” 

In another moment he was gone. 

And well might Frank look grave, for when a 
fireman is called to a fire in Tooley Street, or any 


'fine London fire brigade. 


387 

part of the docks, he knows that he is about to enter 
into the thickest of the Great Eight. To ordinary 
fires he goes light-heartedly — as a bold trooper 
gallops to a skirmish, but to a fire in the neigh- 
bourhood of the docks he goes with something of 
the feeling which must fill the breast of every brava 
soldier on the eve of a great battle. 


' i • i 

i 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

TELLS OF THE GREAT FIRE IN TOOLET STREET, AND OF WHAT BEFEL 
SOME OF THE PERSONAGES OF OUR TALE. 

One of those great calamities which visit us once 
or twice it may be in a century, descended upon 
London on Saturday the 2 2d of June 1861. It was 
the sudden, and for the time overwhelming, attack 
of an old and unconquerable enemy, who found us, 
as usual, inadequately prepared to meet him. 

Fire has fought with us and fed upon us since we 
became a nation, and yet, despite all our efforts, its 
flames are at this day more furious than ever ! 
There are more fires daily in London now than 
there ever were before. Has this foe been properly 
met ? is a question which naturally arises out of this 
fact. Referring to the beautiful organization of the 
present Fire Brigade, the ability of its chiefs and 
the courage of its men, the answer is, Yes, decidedly. 
But referring to the strength of the brigade ; to the 
munitions of war in the form of water ; to the means 
of conveyance in the form of mains ; to the system 

388 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


383 


of check in the shape of an effective Act in reference 
to partition -walls and moderately- sized warehouses; 
to the means of prevention in the shape of pro- 
hibitions and regulations in regard to inflammable 
substances — referring to all these things, the answer 
to the question, “ Has the foe been properly met ? * 
is emphatically, No. 

It is not sufficient to reply that a special inquiry 
is being made into this subject now ; that steps are 
being actually taken to remedy the evils of our 
system (or rather of our want of system) of fire pre- 
vention. Good may or may not result from this 
inquiry : that is yet to be seen. Meanwhile the 
public ought to be awakened more thoroughly to 
the fact that an enemy is and always has been 
abroad in our land, who might be, if we chose , more 
effectively checked ; who, if he has not yet attacked 
our own particular dwelling, may take us by surprise 
any day when we least expect him, and who does 
at all times very materially diminish our national 
wealth and increase our public burdens. Perhaps 
we should not style fire an enemy, but a mutinous 
servant, who does his work faithfully and well, 
except when neglected or abused ! 

About five o’clock on Saturday afternoon intelli- 
gence of the outbreak of fire in Tooley Street reached 
the head-quarters of the brigade in Watling Street 

Fire in Tooley Street ! The mere summons lent 
34 


390 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


energy to the nerves and spring to the muscles of 
the firemen. Not that Tooley Street in itself is 
more peculiarly dangerous in regard to fire than are 
the other streets of shops in the City. But Tooley 
Street lies in dangerous neighbourhood. The streets 
between it and the Thames, and those lying im- 
mediately to the west of it, contain huge warehouses 
and bonded stores, which are filled to suffocation 
with the “ wealth of nations.” Dirty streets and 
narrow lanes here lead to the fountain-head of wealth 
untold — almost inconceivable. The elegant filigree- 
work of West- End luxury may here be seen un - 
smelted, as it were, and in the ore. At the same 
time the rich substances on which fire feeds and 
fattens are stored here in warehouses which (as they 
are) should never have been built, and in proximities 
which should never have been permitted. Examine 
the wharves— Brook's Wharf, Beal’s Wharf, Cotton’s 
Wharf, Chamberlain’s Wharf, Freeman’s Wharf, 
Griffin’s Wharf, Stanton’s Wharf, and others. In- 
vestigate the lanes — Hay’s Lane, Mill Lane, Mor- 
gan’s Lane ; and the streets — Bermondsey, Dockhead, 
Pickle Herring Street, Horsleydown, and others, — 
and there, besides the great deposit and commission 
warehouses which cover acres of ground, and are 
filled from basement to ridge-pole with the com- 
modities and combustibles of every clime, you will 
find huge granaries and stores of lead, alum, drugs, 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


391 


tallcw, chicory, flour, rice, biscuit, sulphur, and salt- 
petre, mingled with the warehouses of cheese- agents, 
ham-factors, provision-merchants, tarpaulin- dealers, 
oil and colour merchants, etc. In fact, the entire 
region seems laid out with a view to the raising of 
a bonfire or a pyrotechnic display on the grandest 
conceivable scale ! 

Little wonder, then, that the firemen of Watling 
Street turned out all their engines, including two of 
Shand and Mason’s new land- steam fire-engines, 
which had at that time just been brought into 
action. Little wonder that the usual request for a 
man from each station was changed into an urgent 
demand for every man that could possibly be spared. 

The fire began in the extensive wharves and 
warehouses known as Cotton’s Wharf, near London 
Bridge, and was first observed in a warehouse over 
a counting-room by some workmen, who at once 
gave the alarm, and attempted to extinguish it with 
some buckets of water. They were quickly driven 
back, however, by the suffocating smoke, which soon 
filled the various floors so densely that no one could 
approach the seat of the fire. 

Mr. Braidwood, who was' early on the spot, saw at 
a glance that a pitched battle was about to be fought, 
and, like a wise general, concentrated all the force at 
his command. Expresses were sent for the more 
distant brigade engines, and these came dashing up, 


392 


FIGHTING Till: FLAMES : A TALE OF 


one after another, at full speed. The two powerful 
steam floating- engines which guard the Thames 
from fire were moored off* the wharf, two lengths of 
hose attached to them, and led on shore and brought 
to bear on the fire. A number of land- engines took 
up a position in Tooley Street, ready for action, but 
these were compelled to remain idle for nearly an 
hour before water was obtainable from the fire-plugs ! 
0 London ! with all your wealth and wisdom, 
how strange that such words can be truly written 
of you ! 

The vessels which were lying at the wharf dis- 
charging and loading were hauled out of danger into 
the stream. 

In course of time the engines were in full play, 
but the warehouse burst into flames from basement 
to roof in spite of them, and ere long eight of the 
great storehouses were burning furiously. The 
flames made rapid work of it, progressing towards 
the line of warehouses facing the river, and to the 
lofty building which adjoined on the Tooley Street 
side. 

Dale and his men were quickly on the scene of 
action, and had their engine soon at work. Before 
long, Frank Willders joined them. They were play- 
ing in at the windows of a large store, which was 
burning so furiously that the interior appeared to be 
red-hot. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


393 


“ Relieve Corney, lad,” said Dale, as Frank came 
forward. 

“ Och ! it ’s time,” cried Corney, delivering up the 
branch to Frank and Moxey ; “ sure Baxmore and 
me are melted intirely .” 

Frank made no reply. He and Moxey directed 
the branch which the others resigned, turning their 
backs as much as possible on the glowing fire, and 
glancing at it over their shoulders ; for it was too 
hot to be faced. 

J ust then the Chief of the brigade came up. 

“ It ’s of no use, sir,” said Dale ; “ we can’t save 
these.” 

"True, Dale, true,” said Mr. Braidwood, in a 
quick, but quiet tone ; “ this block is doomed. Take 
your lads round to the nor’- east corner; we must 
try to prevent it spreading.” 

As he surveyed the progress of the fire, with a 
cool, practical eye, and hurried off to another part of 
the battle-field to post his men to best advantage, 
little did the leader of the forces think that he was 
to be the first to fall that day ! 

Engines were now playing on the buildings in all 
directions ; but the flames were so fierce that they 
made no visible impression on them, and even in 
the efforts made to check their spreading, little 
success appeared to attend them at first. Ware- 
house after warehouse ignited. 

' 34 * 


394 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


To make matters worse, a fresh breeze sprang up, 
and fanned the flames into redoubled fury ; so that 
they quickly caught hold of vast portions of the 
premises occupied by the firm of Scovell and Co. 

“ There ’s not a chance,” said Frank to Dale, 
while he wiped the perspiration from his forehead, 
and sat down for a few seconds to recover breath ; 
for he had just issued from a burning building, 
driven back by heat and smoke, — “There’s not a 
chance of saving that block ; all the iron doors that 
were meant to keep the fire from spreading, have 
been left open by the workmen ! ” 

“ Chance or no chance, we must do our best,” 
said Dale. “ Come, lad, with me ; I think we may 
get at a door inside the next warehouse, through 
which we might bring the branch to bear. Are you 
able ? ” 

“All right,” exclaimed Frank, leaping up, and 
following his leader through the smoke. 

“ Have a care !” cried Frank, pausing as a tremen- 
dous explosion caused the ground to tremble under 
their feet. 

“ It ’s sulphur or saltpetre,” said Dale, pushing 
on ; “ there are tons *upon tons of that stuff in 'the 
cellars all round. 

This was indeed the case. It was said that up- 
wards of 2000 tons of saltpetre were in the vaults at 
the time ; and several explosions had already taken 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


395 


place, though fortunately, without doing injury to 
any one. 

Dale had already partially examined the ware- 
house, into which he now led Frank ; and, therefore, 
although it was full of smoke, he moved rapidly 
along the narrow and intricate passages between the 
bales of goods until he reached an iron door. 

“ Here it is ; we ’ll open this and have a look,” 
he said, grasping the handle and swinging the heavy 
door open. 

Instantly, a volume of black smoke drove both 
the men back, almost suffocating them. They 
could not speak ; but each knew that the re-closing 
of that iron door was all-important, for the fire had 
got nearer to it than Dale had imagined. 

They both darted forward ; but were again driven 
back, and had to rush to the open air for breath. 
Frank recovered before his comrade, in consequence 
of the latter having made a more strenuous and 
prolonged effort to close the door which he had so 
unfortunately opened. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, he sprang into 
the warehouse again ; regained and partially closed 
the door, when the stifling smoke choked him, and 
he fell to the ground. A few seconds later, Dale 
followed him, and found him there. Applying his 
great strength with almost superhuman energy to 
the door, it shut with a crash, and the communica- 


396 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


tion between the buildings was cut off ! Dale then 
seized Frank by the collar, and dragged him into 
the open air, when he himself almost sank to the 
ground. Fresh air, however, soon restored them 
both, and in a few minutes they were actively 
engaged at another part of the building. 

Bravely and perseveringly though this was done, 
it availed not, for nothing could withstand the fury 
of the fire. The warehouse caught, and was soon 
a glowing mass like the others, while the flames 
raged with such violence, that their roaring drowned 
the shouting of men, and the more distant roar of 
the innumerable multitude that densely covered 
London Bridge, and clustered on every eminence 
from which a safe view of the great fire could be 
obtained. 

The floating fire-engines had now been at work 
for some time, and the men in charge of their 
branches were suffering greatly from the intense 
heat. About this time, nearly seven o’clock in the 
evening, Mr. Braidwood went to these men to give 
them a word of encouragement. He proceeded 
down one of the approaches to the river from Tooley 
Street, and stopped when nearly half way to give 
6ome directions, when a sudden and tremendous 
explosion took place, shaking the already tottering 
walls, which at this place were of great height. A 
cry was raised, “ Run ! the wall is falling ! ” Every 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


397 


one sprang away at the word. The wall bulged out 
at the same time ; and one of the firemen, seeing 
that Mr. Braidwood was in imminent danger, made 
a grasp at him as he was springing from the spot ; 
but the heavy masses of brick-work dashed him 
away, and, in another moment the gallant chief of 
the Fire Brigade lay buried under at least fifteen 
feet of burning ruin. 

Any attempt at rescue would have been impos- 
sible, as well as unavailing, for death must have 
been instantaneous. The hero’s warfare with the 
flames, which had lasted for upwards of thirty-eight 
years, was ended ; and his brave spirit returned to 
God who gave it. 

That a man of no ordinary note had fallen was 
proved, before many hours had passed, by the deep 
and earnest feeling of sorrow and sympathy which 
was manifested by all classes in London, from the 
Queen downwards, as well as by the public funeral 
which took place a few days afterwards, at which 
were present the Duke of Sutherland, the Earl of 
Caithness, the Rev. Dr. Cumming, and many gentle- 
men connected with the insurance offices ; the com- 
mittee and men of the London Fire Brigade; also 
those of various private and local brigades; the 
secretary and conductors of the Royal Society for the 
Protection of Life from Fire ; the mounted Metro- 
politan and City police ; the London Rifle Brigade 


398 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


(of which Mr. Braidwood’s three sons were mem' 
bers) ; the superintendents and men of the various 
water companies ; and a long string of private and 
mourning carriages : — to witness the progress of 
which hundreds of thousands of people densely 
crowded the streets and clustered in the windows and 
on every available eminence along the route ; while 
in Cheapside almost all the shops were shut and. 
business was suspended; and in the neigbourhood 
of Shoreditch toiling thousands of artisans came 
forth from factory and workshop to “ see the last of 
Braidwood,” whose name had been so long familial 
to them as a “ household word.” The whole heart 
of London seemed to have been moved by one feel- 
ing, and the thousands who thronged the streets 
“ had” (in the language of one of the papers of the 
day) “ gathered together to witness the funeral, not 
of a dead monarch, not of a great warrior, not of a 
distinguished statesman, not even of a man famous 
in art, in literature, or in science, but simply of 
J ames Braidwood, late superintendent of the London 
"Fire-Engine Establishment” — a true hero, and one 
who was said, by those who knew him best, to be 
an earnest Christian man. 

But at the moment of his fall his men were 
engaged in the thick of battle. Crushing though 
the news of his death was, there was no breathing- 
time to realize it. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


399 


The tierce heat had not only driven back the fire- 
men on shore, hut had compelled the floating fire- 
engines to haul off, in consequence of the flaming 
matter which poured over the wharf wall and covered 
the surface of the river the entire length of the 
burning warehouses ; while the whole of the car- 
riage-way of Tooley Street was ankle- deep in hot 
oil and tallow. After the fall of their Chief, Messrs. 
Henderson and Fogo, two of the principal officers of 
the brigade, did their utmost to direct the energies 
of the men. 

Night closed in, and the flames continued to rage 
in all their fury and magnificence. News of this 
great fire spread with the utmost rapidity over the 
metropolis. Indeed, it was visible at Hampstead 
while it was yet daylight. When darkness set in, 
one of the most extraordinary scenes that London 
ever produced was witnessed. From all quarters the 
people came pouring in, on foot, in omnibus, cab, 
pleasure-van, cart, and waggon — all converging to 
London Bridge. At nine o’clock the Bridge and 
its approaches presented all the appearance of the 
Epsom road on the Derby day. Cabs and busses 
plied backwards and forwards on the Bridge all 
night, carrying an unlimited number of passengers 
at 2d. and 3d. each, and thousands of persons spent 
the night in thus passing to and fro. The railway 
terminus, Billingsgate- Market, the roof of the Coal 


400 


FtGHTiNG THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


Exchange, the Monument, the quays, the* windows 
the house-tops, the steeples, and the chimney- 
stalks — all were crowded with human beings, whose 
eager upturned faces were rendered intensely bright 
against the surrounding darkness by the fierce glare 
of the fire. But the Thames presented the most 
singular appearance of all, — now reflecting on its 
bosom the inky black clouds of smoke ; anon the 
red flames, as fresh fuel was licked up by the de- 
vouring element, and, occasionally, sheets of silver 
light that flashed through the chaos when sulphur 
and saltpetre explosions occurred. Mountains of 
flame frequently burst away from the mass of burn- 
ing buildings and floated upward for a few moments, 
and the tallow and tar which flowed out of the 
warehouses floated away blazing with the tide and 
set the shipping on fire, so that land and water alike 
seemed to be involved in one huge terrific confla- 
gration. 

The utmost consternation prevailed on board the 
numerous craft on the river in the vicinity of the 
fire, for thick showers of sparks and burning mate- 
rials fell incessantly. G-usts of wind acted on the 
ruins now and then, and at such moments the gaunt 
walls, cracked and riven out of shape, stood up 
glowing with intense white heat in the midst of a 
sea of fire from which red flames and dark clouds of 
6moke were vomited, as from the crater of some 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


401 


mighty volcano, with a roar that mingled with the 
shouts of excited thousands, and drowned even the 
dull incessant thumpings of the engines that worked 
in all directions. 

Moored alongside of -Chamberlain’s Wharf was a 
small sloop. Little blue blisters of light broke out 
on her rigging ; soon these increased in size, and in 
a few minutes she was on fire from stem to stern. 
Immediately after, there came a barge with flowing 
sails, borne on the rising tide. She passed too neai 
to the conflagration. Her crew of three men became 
panic-stricken, and lost control of her. At sight of 
this a great shout was raised, and a boat put off 
and rescued the crew ; but almost before they were 
landed their barge was alight from stem to stern. 
The tremendous cheer that burst from the excited 
multitude at sight of this rescue rose for a moment 
above the ’roaring of the conflagration. Then an- 
other barge was set on fire by the blazing tallow 
which floated out to her, but she was saved by being 
scuttled. 

In the midst of such a scene it was to be expected 
that there would be damage to life and limb. The 
firemen, besides being exposed to intense heat for 
hours, were almost blinded and choked by the smoke 
emitted from the burning pepper — more especially 
the Cayenne— of which there was a large quantity 
in the warehouses. Some of the men who weie 
2 a m 


402 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


working the engines fell into the river and were 
drowned. A gentleman who was assisting the fire- 
men had his hand impaled on an iron spike. A poor 
Irishman had his neck broken by the chain of the 
floating engine, and several of the police force and 
others were carried to hospital badly burned and 
otherwise injured. 

Some of the casualties occurred in places where 
only a few persons were there to witness them, but 
others were enacted on the river and on spots which 
were in full view of the vast multitudes on London 
Bridge. A boat containing five men put off to 
collect the tallow which floated on the water, but it 
got surrounded by tallow which had caught fire, and 
the whole of its occupants were either burned to 
death or drowned. Later in the night a small skiff 
rowed by a single man was drawn by the tide into 
the vortex of the fire. Another boat ran out and 
saved the man, but a second boat which was pulled 
off by a single rower for the same purpose was drawn 
too near the fire, and its brave occupant perished. 
So eager were the multitude on the bridge to witness 
these scenes that some of themselves were forced 
over the parapet into the river and drowned. 

Comical incidents were strangely mingled with 
these awful scenes, although it is but justice to say 
the prevailing tone of the crowd was one of solemnity. 
Itinerant vendors of gingerbeer, fruit, caloe^ and 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


403 


coffee ranged themselves along the pavements and 
carried on a brisk trade— especially after the public- 
houses were closed, many of which, however, taking 
advantage of the occasion, kept open door all night. 

Among these last was the ‘ Angel/ belonging to 
Gorman. 

That worthy was peculiarly active on this occa 
si on. He never neglected an opportunity of turning 
an honest penny, and, accordingly, had been engaged 
from an early hour in his boat collecting tallow ; of 
which plunder a considerable amount had been 
already conveyed to his abode. 

Besides Gorman, several of the other personages 
of our tale found their way to the great centre of 
attraction, London Bridge, on that night. Among 
them was John Barret, who, on hearing of the fire, 
had left his snug little villa and pretty little wife to 
witness it. 

He had already made one or two cheap trips on 
one of the omnibuses, and, about midnight, got down 
and forced his way to a position near the south side 
of the bridge. Here he was attracted to a ginger- 
beer barrow which an unusually adventurous man 
had pushed through the crowd into a sheltered corner. 
He forced his way to it, and, to his amazement, found 
the owner to be his former friend Ned Hooper ! 

“ Hallo ! Barret.” “ Why, Ned !” were the excla- 
mations that burst simultaneously from their lipa 


404 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


“ This is a strange occupation” said Barret, with 
a smile. 

“ Ah, it may seem strange to you, no doubt, but 
it’s familiar enough to me,” replied Ned, with a 
grin. 

The demand for beer was so great at this time 
that Ned could not continue the conversation. 

“ Here, boy,” he said to an urchin who stood near, 

4 you draw corks as fast as you can and pour out the 
beer, and I ’ll give you a copper or two and a swig 
into the bargain.” 

The boy accepted the post of salesman with 
alacrity, and Ned turned to his friend and seized his 
hand. 

“ Barret,” said he, in a low, earnest voice, “ if I 
succeed in holding out I own my salvation, under 
God, to you. I ’ve tasted nothing but gingerbeei 
for many a long day, and I really believe that I 
have got my enemy down at last. It ’s not a lucra- 
tive b>- siness, as you may see,” he added with a sad 
smile, glancing at his threadbare garments, “ nor a 
very aristocratic one — ” 

“My dear Ned,” cried Barret, interrupting, and 
suddenly thrusting his hand into his pocket. 

“ No, Barret, no,” said Ned firmly, as he laid his 
hand on the other’s arm ; “ I don’t want money ; I ’ve 
given up begging. You gave me your advice once, 
and I have taken that — it has been of more value to 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


406 


me than all the wealth that is being melted into 
thin air, John, by yonder fire — ” 

Ned was interrupted at this point by a bursl 
of laughter from the crowd. The cause of their 
mirth was the appearance of a tall, thin, and very 
lugubrious-looking man who had come on the bridge 
to see the fire. He had got so excited that he had 
almost fallen over the parapet, and a policeman had 
kindly offered to escort him to a place of safety. 

"Why, what d’ye mean? — what d’ye take me 
for?” cried the tall man angrily; ‘I’m an honest 
man ; my name is David Boone ; I ’ve only come to 
see the fire ; you ’ve no occasion to lay hold o’ me F 

“ I know that,” said the policeman ; “ I only want 
to get you out of danger. Come along now.” 

Just then a thickset man with a red handkerchief 
tied round his head came forward to the stall and 
demanded a glass of beer. The moment his eyes 
encountered those of David Boone he became pale 
as death and staggered back as if he had received a 
deadly blow. 

“ Is that you, Gorman ?” cried David, in a voice 
and with an expression of amazement. 

Gorman did not reply, but gazed at his former 
friend with a look of intense horror, while his chest 
heaved and he breathed laboriously. Suddenly he 
uttered a loud cry and rushed towards the river. 

Part of the crowd sprang after him, as if with a 
35 * 


406 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


view to arrest him, or to see what he meant to do. 
In the rush Barret and Boone were carried away. 

A few moments later a deep murmur of surprise 
rose from the thousands of spectators on the bridge, 
for a boat was seen to dash suddenly from the shore 
and sweep out on the river. It was propelled by a 
single rower — a man with a red kerchief tied round 
his head. The murmur of the crowd suddenly 
increased to a shout of alarm, for the man was row- 
ing his boat straight towards a mass of tallow which 
floated and burned on the water. 

“ Hold on ! ” “ Look out ahead ! ” shouted several 
voices, while others screamed “ Too late ! ” “ He ’s 
gone ! ” and then there arose a wild cry, for the man 
rowed straight into the centre of the burning mass 
and was enveloped in the flames. For one moment 
he was seen to rise and swing his arms in the air — 
then he fell backwards over the gunwale of his boat 
and disappeared in the blazing flood. 

* * * * 

Fiercer and fiercer raged the fire. The night 
passed — the day came and went, and night again 
set in — yet still the flames leaped and roared in 
resistless fury, and still the firemen fought them 
valiantly. And thus they fought, day and night, 
hand to hand, for more than a fortnight, before the 
battle was thoroughly ended and the victory gained. 
How the firemen continued to do their desperate 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


407 


work, day and night, almost without rest, it is im- 
possible to tell. Frank Willders said that, after the 
first night, he went about his work like a man in a 
dream. He scarcely knew when, or how, or where, 
he rested or ate. He had an indistinct remem- 
brance of one or two brief intervals of oblivion, 
when he supposed he must have been asleep, but 
the only memory that remained strong and clear 
within him was that of constant, determined fighting 
with the flames. And Willie Willders followed him 
like his shadow ! clad in a coat and helmet borrowed 
from a friend in the Salvage Corps. Willie fought 
in that great fight as if he had been a trained fire- 
man ! 

On the fourth day, towards evening, Frank was 
ordered down into a cellar where some tar-barrels 
were burning. He seized the branch, and was about 
to leap down the stair when Dale stopped him. 

“ Fasten the rope to your belt,” he said. 

Frank obeyed without speaking, and then sprang 
forward, while Dale himself followed, ordering 
Corney, Baxmore, and one or two others, to hold on 
to the ropes. Willie Willders also ran in, but was 
met by such a dense cloud of smoke that he was 
almost choked. Bushing back he shouted “ Haul on 
the ropes !” 

The men were already hauling them in, and in a 
few seconds Dale and Frank were dragged by their 


408 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


waist belts into the open air, the former nearly, and 
the latter quite, insensible. 

In a few minutes they both recovered, and another 
attempt was made to reach the fire in the cellar, but 
without success. 

The public did not witness this incident. The 
firemen were almost surrounded by burning ruins, 
and none but comrades were there. 

Indeed, the public seldom see the greatest dangers 
to which the fireman is exposed. It is not when he 
makes his appearance on some giddy height on a 
burning and tottering house, and is cheered enthusi- 
astically by the crowd, that his courage is most 
severely tried. It is when he has to creep on hands 
and knees through dense smoke, and hold the 
branch in the face of withering heat, while beams 
are cracking over his head, and burning rubbish is 
dropping around, and threatening to overwhelm him 
— it is in such circumstances, when the public know 
nothing of what is going on, and when no eye sees 
him save that of the solitary comrade who shares 
his toil and danger, that the fireman’s nerve and 
endurance are tested to the uttermost. 

After leaving the cellar, Dale and his men went 
to attempt to check the fire in a quarter where it 
threatened to spread, and render this — the greatest 
of modern conflagrations — equal to the great one of 
1666 , 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


405 


“We might reach it from that window,” said 
Dale to Frank, pointing to a house, the sides of 
which were already blistering, and the glass crack- 
ing with heat. 

Frank seized the branch and gained the window 
in question, but could not do anything very effective 
from that point. He thought, however, that from 
a window in an adjoining store he might play 
directly on a house which was in imminent danger. 
But the only means of reaching it was by passing 
over a charred beam, thirty feet beneath which lay 
a mass of smouldering ruins. For one moment he 
hesitated, uncertain whether or not the beam would 
sustain his weight. But the point to be gained was 
one of great importance, so he stepped boldly for- 
ward, carrying the branch with him. As he ad- 
vanced, the light of the fire fell brightly upon him, 
revealing his tall figure clearly to the crowd, which 
cheered him heartily. 

At that moment the beam gave way. Willie, 
who was about to follow, had barely time to spring 
back and gain a firm footing, when he beheld his 
brother fall headlong into the smoking ruins below. 

In another moment he had leaped down the 
staircase and was at Frank’s side. Baxmore, Dale, 
Corney, and others, followed, and, in the midst of 
fire and smoke, they raised their comrade in their 
arms and bore him to a place of safety. 


410 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


No one spoke, but a stretcher was quickly brought, 
and Frank was conveyed in a state of insensibility 
to the nearest hospital, where his manly form — 
shattered, burned, and lacerated — was laid on a 
bed. He breathed, although he was unconscious 
and evinced no sign of feeling when the surgeons 
examined his wounds. 

A messenger was despatched for Mrs. Willders, 
and Willie remained to watch beside him while his 
comrades went out to continue the fight 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


THE LA8T. 

For many months Frank Willders lay upon hia 
bed unable to move, and scarcely able to speak. 
His left leg atid arm had been broken, his face and 
hands were burned and cut, and his once stalwart 
form was reduced to a mere wreck. 

During that long and weary time of suffering he 
had two nurses who never left him — who relieved 
each other day and night ; smoothed his pillow and 
read to him words of comfort from God’s blessed 
book. These were, his own mother and Emma 
Ward. 

For many weeks his life seemed to waver in the 
balance, but at last he began to mend. His frame, 
however, had been so shattered that the doctors held 
out little hope of his ever being anything better 
than a helpless cripple ; so, one day, he said to 
Emma — 

"I have been thinking, Emma, of our engage- 
ment.” 


412 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


He paused and spoke sadly — as if with great 
difficulty. 

“ And I have made up my mind.” he continued, 
“ to release you/' 

“ Frank !” exclaimed Emma. 

“Yes, dear. No one can possibly understand 
what it costs me to say this, but it would be the 
worst kind of selfishness were I to ask you to many 
a poor wretched cripple like me.” 

“But what if I refuse to he released, Frank?” 
said Emma with a smile ; “ you may, indeed, be a 
cripple, but you shall not be a wretched one if it is 
in my power to make you happy ; and as to your 
being poor — what of that ? I knew you were not 
rich when I accepted you, and you know I have a 
very, very small fortune of my own which will at least 
enable us to exist until you are able to work again ” 

Frank looked at her in surprise, for he had not 
used the word poor with reference to money. 

“ Has mother, then, not told you anything about 
my circumstances of late ?” he asked. 

“ No, nothing ; what could she tell me that I do 
not already know?” said Emma. 

Frank made no reply for a few moments, then he 
said with a sad yet gratified smile — “ So you refuse 
to be released V* 

“Yes, Frank, unless you insist on it” replied 
Emma. 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


413 


Again the invalid relapsed into silence and shut 
his eyes. Gradually he fell into a quiet slumber, 
from which, about two hours later, he awoke with a 
start under the impression that he had omitted to 
say something. Looking up he found that his 
mother had taken Emma’s place. He at once asked 
why she had not told Emma about the change in 
his fortunes. 

“ Because I thought it best,” said Mrs. Willders, 
“ to leave you to tell her yourself, Frank.” 

“ Well, mother, I depute you to tell her now, and 
pray do it without delay. I offered to give her up 
a short time ago, but she refused to listen to me.” 

“ I ’m glad to hear it,” replied the widow with a 
smile. “ I always thought her a good sensible 
girl.” 

“ Hm ! so did I,” said Frank, “ and something 
more.” 

Once again he became silent, and, as an inevit- 
able consequence, fell fast asleep. In which satis- 
factory state we will leave him while we run briefly 
over the events of his subsequent history. 

In direct opposition to the opinion of all his 
doctors, Frank not only recovered the use of all his 
limbs, but became as well and strong as ever — and 
the great fire in Tooley Street left no worse marks 
upon him than a few honourable scars. 

His recovery, however, was tedious. The state 
36 


414 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


of his health, coupled with the state of his fortune, 
rendered it advisable that he should seek the bene- 
fit of country air, so he resigned his situation in the 
London Fire Brigade — resigned it, we may add, with 
deep regret, for some of his happiest days had been 
spent in connexion with that gallant corps. 

Rambling and fishing among the glorious moun- 
tains of Wales with his brother Willie, he speedily 
regained health and strength. While wandering 
with delight through one of the most picturesque 
scenes of that wild and beautiful region, he came 
suddenly one day on a large white umbrella, under 
which sat a romantic-looking man, something be- 
tween an Italian bandit and an English sportsman, 
who was deeply engrossed with a sheet of paper on 
which he was depicting one of the grandest views 
in the splendid pass of Llanberis. At this man 
Willie rushed with a shout of surprise, and found 
that he answered at once to the name of Fred 
Auberly ! Fred was thrown into such a state of 
delight at the sight of his old friends that he cap- 
sized the white umbrella, packed up his paints, and 
accompanied them to their inn. Here, on being 
questioned, he related how that, while in Rome he 
had been seized with a fever which laid him pros- 
trate for many weeks ; that, on his recovery, he 
wrote to Loo and his father, but received no reply 
from either of them ; that he afterwards spent some 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 415 

months in Switzerland making more than enough 
of money with his brush to “ keep the pot boiling,” 
and that, finally, he returned home to find that dear 
Loo was dead, and that the great Tooley Street fire 
had swept away his father’s premises and ruined 
him. As this blow had, however, been the means 
of softening his father and effecting a reconciliation 
between them, he was rather glad than otherwise, 
he said, that the fire had taken place. Fred did not 
say— although he might have said it with truth — 
that stiff and stately Mr. Auberly had been reduced 
almost to beggary, and that he was now dependent 
for a livelihood on the very palette and brushes which 
once he had i$o ruthlessly condemned to the flames ! 

After this trip to Wales, Frank returned home 
and told his mother abruptly that he meant to 
marry Emma Ward without delay, to which Mrs. 
Willders replied that she thought he was quite right. 
As Emma appeared to be of the same mind the „ 
marriage took place in due course. That is to say, 
Miss Tippet and Emma managed to put it off as 
long as possible and to create as much delay as they 
could. When they had not the shadow of an excuse 
for further delay— not so much as a forgotten band 
or an omitted hook of the voluminous trousseau— 
the great event was allowed tp go on — or, to “ come 
off.” 

Many and varied were the faces that appeared 


416 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


at the church on that auspicious occasion. Mr 
Auberly was there to give away the bride, and 
wonderfully cheerful he looked, too, considering that 
he gave her to the man whom he once thought 
so very unworthy of her. Willie was groomsman, 
of course, and among the bridesmaids there was a 
little graceful, dark- eyed and dark-haired creature, 
whom he regarded as an angel or a fairy, or some- 
thing of that sort, and whom everybody else, except 
Frank and Mrs. Willders, thought the most beautiful 
girl in the church. In the front gallery, just above 
this dark-eyed girl, sat an elderly man who gazed at 
her with an expression of intense affection. His 
countenance was careworn and had a somewhat dis 
sipated look upon it. Yet there was a healthy glow 
on it too, as if the dissipation were a thing of the 
distant past. The dark-eyed girl once or twice stole 
a glance at the elderly man and smiled on him with 
4 a look of affection quite as fervent as his own. 
There was a rather stylish youth at this man’s 
elbow whose muscles were so highly developed that 
they appeared about to burst his superfine black 
coat. He was observed to nod familiarly to the 
dark- eyed girl more than once, and Appeared to be 
in a state of considerable excitement — ready, as it 
were, to throw a, somersault over the gallery on the 
slightest provocation. 

Of course Miss Tippet was there in “ such a lovo 


TIIE LONDON FINE BRIGADE. 417 

of a bonnet,” looking the picture of happiness. So 
was Mr. Tippet, beaming , all over with joy. So was 
Miss Deemas, scowling hatred and defiance at the 
men. So was David Boone, whose circumstances 
had evidently improved, if one might judge from the 
self-satisfied expression, of his face and the splendour 
of his attire. John Barret was also there, and, close 
beside him stood Ned Hooper, who appeared to 
shrink modestly from observation, owing, perhaps, 
to his coat being a little threadbare. But Ned had 
no occasion to be ashamed of himself, for his face 
and appearance showed clearly that he had indeed 
been enabled fo resist temptation, and that he had 
risen to a higher position in the social scale than a 
vendor of ginger-beer. 

In the background might have been seen Hopkins 
— tall and dignified as ever, with Matty Merryon at 
his side. It was rumoured “ below -stairs” that these 
two were engaged, but as the engagement has not 
yet advanced to anything more satisfactory, we hold 
that to be a private matter with which ,we have no 
right to meddle. 

Close to these stood a group of stalwart men in 
blue coats and leathern belts, and with sailor-like 
caps in their hands These men appeared to take a 
lively interest in what was going forward, and evi- 
dently found it difficult to restrain a cheer when 

Frank took Emmas hand. Once or twice during 
2 b 36* 


418 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES : A TALE OF 


the service one or two other men of similar appear- 
ance looked into the church as if in haste, nodded to 
their comrades, and went out again, while one of 
them appeared in the organ loft with a helmet hang- 
ing on his arm and his visage begrimed with char- 
ooal, as if he were returning from a recent fire. This 
man, feeling, no doubt, that he was not very present- 
able, evidently wished to see without being seen. 
He was very tall and stout, and was overheard to 
observe, in very Irish tones, that “ it was a purty 
sight intirelv.” 

When the carriage afterwards started from the 
door, this man — who bore a strong resemblance to 
Joe Corney — sprang forward and called for three 
cheers, which call was responded to heartily by all, 
but especially by the blue-coated and belted fellows 
with sailor-like caps, who cheered their old comrade 
and his blooming bride with those deep and thrilling 
tones which can be produced in perfection only by 
the lungs and throats of true-blue British tars ! 

Now, it must not be supposed that this was the 
end of Frank’s career. In truth it was only the 
beginning of it, for Frank Willders was one of those 
men who know how to make a good use of money. 

His first proceeding after the honeymoon was to 
take a small farm in the suburbs of London. He 
had a tendency for farming, and he resolved at least 
to play at it if he could make nothing by it. There 


THE LONDON FIRE BRIGADE. 


419 


was a small cottage on the farm, not far from the 
dwelling-house. This was rented by Willie, and 
into it he afterwards introduced Ziza Cattley as Mrs. 
William Willders. The widow inhabited another 
small cottage not a hundred yards distant from it, 
but she saw little of her own home except at night, 
being constrained to spend most of her days with 
one oi* other of her “ boys.” 

As the farm was near a railway station, Willie 
went to town every morning to business — Saturdays 
and Sundays excepted — and returned every evening. 
His business prospered arid so did Mr. Tippet’s. 
That eccentric old gentleman had, like Mr. Auberly, 
been ruined by the great fire, but he did not care — so 
he said— because the other business kept him going ! 
He was not aware that Willie’s engineering powers 
turned in all the money of that other business, and 
Willie took care never to enlighten him, but helped 
him as of old in planning, inventing, and discovering, 
to the end of his days. 

There was one grand feature which Frank intro- 
duced into his suburban establishment which we 
must not omit to mention. This was a new patent 
steam fire-engine. He got it not only for the pro- 
tection of his own farm, but, being a philanthropic 
man, for the benefit of the surrounding district 
and he trained the men of his farm and made 
them expert firemen. Willie was placed in com- 


420 


FIGHTING THE FLAMES. 


mand of this engine, so that the great wish of his 
early years was realized ! There was not a fire 
within ten miles round them at which Willie's 
engine was not present ; and the brothers continued 
for many years to fight the flames together in that 
neighbourhood. 

As for stout George Dale, and Sturdy Baxmore, 
and facetious Joe Corney with his comrades Moxey, 
Williams and Mason, and Sam Forest, those heroes 
continued to go on the even tenor of their way, fight- 
ing more battles with the flames in six months than 
were fought with our human enemies by all our red- 
coats and blue-jackets in as many years, and with- 
out making any fuss about it too, although danger 
was the element in which they lived, and wounds or 
death might have met them any day of the year. 

For all we know to the contrary, they may be 
carrying on the war while we pen this chronicle, and, 
unless more vigorous measures are adopted for prc ■ 
venting fire than have been taken in time past, there 
can be no question that these stout-hearted men will 
in time to come have more occasion than ever for 
—fighting the flames. 



































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